Kurse
by CrimsonCobwebs
Summary: When archaeology student Rinoa Heartilly unearths an Ancient Centran coffin during a dig, she dismisses the rumours of its curse as superstition. That is until she gains magic powers and two Knights who are supposed to be six centuries dead. One wants freedom, the other glory, and both of them spell equal amounts of trouble. All she wants to do is finish her dissertation on time.
1. Hell Followed With Him

Even though I said I'd retired from the world of fanfiction, I've made a brief return to fulfil my long desire to write something for FF8. Although this is, regrettably, very tongue and cheek, and totally AU; not to be taken too seriously! I kinda feel like my thirteen year old inner okatu is writing this. You have been warned so don't hate me. But, hey! Hopefully it'll be a fun trip.

Totally gotta shout out Nimmieamee here. Massive inspiration for me, especially in regards to Knight lore. Go read her fic: **The Nether Rippers**. It's amazing.

* * *

**Prologue**  
_And Hell Followed With Him_

Rinoa Heartilly didn't bother to stifle her unlady-like yawn as she raised her arms and stretched, then winced as a succession of wet pops tracked down her spine. It was as much as she deserved, she supposed, for sitting in one spot for three and a half hours. Her sight was bleary and when she rubbed her eyelids with her fingertips red blotches ruptured her vision. But red blotches were good, right? It meant that her eyeballs hadn't shrivelled into stony raisins. Yet.

She gave a groan, borne from frustration and lack of sleep, and finally prised her fingers away from her lids so she could glare hotly at the dreaded dissertation on her desk. 'DD' for short: the unwanted acquaintance that tagged behind every thought, every dream and every general waking moment of her current life like a bad smell.

Her glare shifted to the screen of her laptop, then to the jumble of papers neglectfully scattered around its base. Who was she kidding? It couldn't be called a dissertation. It was just a muddle of notes: randomly selected quotes from historians, bullet points of potential subjects, meagre annotations, and a single doodled flower with a smiley face.

The cursor flashed at the top of the blank word document on the laptop's screen. Mocking her.

She slammed the laptop closed with another croaky grunt, then contemplated the cold dregs of the coffee she'd made a few hours ago.

_I could've minored in fashion_, she lamented_. Or cookery. Or – or dog grooming! But I had to pick Classical Studies, didn't I? Thought it might be _clever_. Or at least interesting…_

She back pedalled a bit, feeling guilty. It _was_ interesting. Historical accounts were like a collection of fairytales, most of the time. Dark, bloody fairytales, sure, but they often held her interest. Modern civilisation was built on the bones of far older ones, alternatively leeching and distorting its predecessor like a parasite, until nothing was left but remnants and stories and speculative essays. Sometimes history was so farfetched – so brutal – Rinoa had a hard time believing it had happened at all. Just because they'd found a broken vase from the Derium Era or a headless statue sculpted in Emperor Tristan VI's reign didn't instantly validate their existence. It simply meant that someone had existed at some time, and the rest was largely open for interpretation.

Anyway, while the stories were interesting, they hadn't contributed to her major as much as she would have liked: Politics and International Relations.

She acknowledged that history repeated itself, but Rinoa was an advocate of change. For changes to be made – for _peace_ to be made – she reasoned she first had to have an understanding of previous wars: what made them start, what made them go on, what ended them. If she gleaned some clever insight into the world of politics through history, maybe she could apply them to today.

Or at least, that's what she'd hoped. Instead, Classical Studies had gone way back. Too far back. Back to times when silly superstitions were the driving fuel of decisions: fear of witches, fear of gods, babies sacrificed on alters, hearts eaten while they still pulsed, tree bark devoured to induce visions of the future; angels, devils, sorceresses and knights, all of which had been unaccounted for for generations. Centuries, even. Just broken pottery and broken statues to apply flimsy evidence to their alleged existence.

Though sorceresses and knights had existed at some point, she knew. Everyone knew. There was enough magic and monsters in the world to attest that. Still, that didn't help the current political climate, nor her budding future as a politician, nor her petition for change.

Nor did it help her write her dissertation.

Her stupid, pointless, boring, unwritten dissertation.

Rinoa made an undignified noise then slumped forward onto the desk, head nestled in her arms. She prayed tomorrow would bring her some inspiration. And once her dissertation was complete and she'd earned her minor, she never wanted to hear the word 'history' again.

* * *

She didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but it couldn't have been for more than a few minutes. Her sight was still to bleary, her head full of cobwebs, her eyes dry and swollen. But then… why was there sunlight slanting through the blinds?

It took a few moments of groggily blinking at the coffee stains on her notes (she'd fallen asleep at her desk again and boy would her neck pay for it today) before she realised that the sun should not be slanting across the desk yet. But it was. And that meant she was –

"No!"

She jumped up too quickly and her cramped back muscles roared in protest. There was no time to bemoan them though, no time for a shower either, no time even for breakfast. Rinoa dared to glance at the digital clock on her oven and immediately regretted it.

"Late, so late, so so so late –"

No time for coffee. No time to brush her hair. She yanked on an old pair of jeans, a white t shirt, a big, dark pair of sunglasses and a stylish wide brimmed hat, then spared a precious second to appraise herself in the mirror. Good job she knew how to accessorise. Maybe she could start a bed-head trend?

She grabbed her notebooks, purse, phone and keys and practically flew out the door and down the apartment's stairs, feet barely touching the floor. She all but tackled the landlord, who was casually sorting mail by the front door. Very _casually_ barring her way. Almost as though he knew she'd be down at some point.

"In a rush?" he asked with an easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ah, yeah," Rinoa said, as she tried to cram her notebook into her small designer handbag while lamenting the impracticalities of high fashion. "Look, I'm realllly late. Can it wait?"

"By 'it', do you mean your rent?" he said. "I think 'it' has waited long enough."

"I know, I know. It's just the tuition fees – "

"Paid by your father."

"- and the bills - "

"Also paid by your father."

" – and the… the travel costs?" She bit her lip. "You have no idea."

"Clearly." His smile had disappeared now. His gaze dropped to her purse. "New?"

"Ah –"

"End of the week, Miss Heartilly."

"Right. End of the week. Don't worry, it'll be there. In your bank account. The rent, that is." She edged around him like he had sprouted Cactaur spines, then shot out the door with a gusty, "Bye!"

Outside the day was cool, though not without the promise of spring. The sun had shrugged off its frosty edge and the night's rainfall had left the air smelling earthy and fresh. Rinoa hurried down Timber's streets, eyes carefully avoiding the Galbadian soldiers both stationed and patrolling. Seeing them was like finding fleas on a puppy; they were unwelcome blemishes on the homely, bustling city of Timber. The pretty brick houses with their colourful shutters and flower pots just beginning to bud was spoiled by their presence, and the city's residents stole past them with an air of defeated tolerance.

Her gaze snagged on a poster hurriedly pasted onto the side of a bus stop:

**Fight the Deling Dogs! Fight for a Tyrant-less Timber! Join the Resistance Today!**

She grinned wryly. Perhaps Timber wasn't entirely defeated. Not yet, anyway.

She hailed a taxi and paid extra so the driver wouldn't take the long routes. He even cut down a bus lane or two, so she gave him a tip when he dropped her off on the other side of the Industrial District.

Timber sat at the centre of a web of tracks that spun their threads across the entire continent, from the great plains of the south, through the fertile farmland and rich woodland to the west, under the eastern seas and over snow-capped mountains that neatly trimmed the continent's edge. The west of Timber was rolling grasslands, cultivated by farmers and their herds of cows. If Rinoa squinted, she could pick out the bands of mercenaries hired to keep monsters at bay.

She didn't have time to contemplate the scenery in detail. She caught sight of the aircraft carrier sitting at the end of a short runway owned by Timber University. It was rarely used, for Timber was, afterall, a city of trains. However, today was an exception.

"I'm so sorry," Rinoa huffed as she ran up to her tutor, one hand on her hat to keep it from flying off. "I haven't put the schedule back have I?"

Cid Kramer, guest lecturer of Classical Civilisation at Timber University, glanced down at his wristwatch then shrugged with an unconcerned grin. "Eh, I don't think the bones will care if we're an hour late for digging them up."

"I'm –"

"Get in the plane, child, you'll put us behind schedule."

"But you just said –"

"Here are some notes for you to go over." He handed her a stapled wad of paper. "Background information on the site, excavation details, expected findings and their historical relevance, blah, blah, blah." He flapped a podgy-fingered hand. "You get the gist. Now, I'm going to sit in the cockpit with our dear pilot and we'll start making tracks. That hat looks wonderful on you."

And with that baffling sentiment he bustled away into the cockpit, leaving Rinoa to board the aircraft alone.

There weren't many seats left and after gauging the annoyed looks shot her way from her fellow classmates (who had been kept waiting for a little under an hour in the cramped, hot craft) she discreetly took a seat at the back, alone and by a window. A flight attendant offered her watery coffee in a polystyrene cup which she gulped down like it was the best thing she'd ever tasted (it wasn't), then promptly requested another.

After the plane was airborne, she slotted her coffee into the cupholder in the armrest, then opened the booklet outlining the excavation. The plane jostled slightly, disturbed by some minor turbulence. Further down the cabin someone groaned then dashed to the bathroom. Rinoa was very glad she hadn't gone out drinking the night before.

She read the words printed on the front page.

Excavation of Pre-Centran Ruins  
Location: Eastern Lolesterin Plains, Esthar  
Suspected Era: Ballisic or Ventina Age, Pre/post Tensin Era  
Possible Discovery: ?Ventian Circus; ?Mass burial site; ?Settlement; ?Tomb

Rinoa scoffed. Leave it to Cid to make such wild and unrelated speculations. A settlement was most likely, or a mass burial site, both of which were mundane and unsurprising. Pre Centran civilisations had been destroyed by war and a Lunar Cry (as had the Centrans for that matter) so the earth was understandably littered with bones and remnants of old villages and cities; those that hadn't been blasted into dust or obliterated by Moon Monsters. Still, a tomb might be interesting if it belonged to someone important. Didn't the Ballisic civilisation have multiple kings that ruled plots of land rather than entire empires? It might be fun if they found buried treasure.

A circus was unlikely but not impossible, though she fervently hoped it wasn't one. The Ventian circuses had been giant amphitheatres that rose above the sandy plains so high as to cast half its surrounding city into shadow. Inevitably, they had not lasted through the trials of wars, so if they were to dig up the circus now it would likely be foundations buried in the sand, i.e. a bunch of boring old rocks.

_This won't help by political career at all,_ Rinoa lamented as she half-heartedly flicked through the booklet. _Though at least I might get a tan._

Rinoa hadn't been excited to learn that as part of her minor degree she had to undertake a minimum of a six week internship. Ideally she would have liked to spend her time in the Citizen's Advice Bureau or at least done something with public affairs. But then _that man_, General Caraway, had offered to have her shadow some of his lackeys as a politician's assistant. So just to spite him she took a placement with a series of small archaeological exhibitions, funded by some eccentric bigwigs in Esthar. That would show him.

Well. Except Rinoa didn't really like rooting around in the hot dust of the Lolesterin Plains and camping in cramped tents during the cold nights. And she didn't share the excitement of the other students when ambiguous chips of pottery were discovered, or fragments of metal that might have been part of a spear or shield or tankard. Might have. The stories behind them were interesting, but it would take months of research and testing (that was done in Esthar anyway and rarely communicated back to the students) before the stories began to piece themselves together. She kind of wished she'd taken the placement at the Deling Museum of Ancient History. At least the hard work had already been done.

After some time sifting through the notes, Rinoa nodded off. In her dream she was on her hands and knees in the red dust of a desert. She was brushing away a thin layer of sand to reveal an artefact, but upon closer inspection it was actually her dissertation, too old and frail for the writing to be made out. When she completely unearthed it, it crumbled and sifted through her fingers like ash.

* * *

The plane touched down a few hours later. The landing on the plains was always tumultuous as there was no official runway, just cracked arid rock, and the plane jerked and swerved when it landed. Rinoa stared out the window as the plane rolled to a halt and spotted the white line of tents that lined the ditch of the excavation site, like a giant's bleached spine half buried in the sand. She put on her sunglasses and hat and braced herself for a long day.

The heat was a merciless beast that swallowed her whole as she stepped out of the plane. The sun clapped scalding hands against her pale skin and roasted the sand under her shoes, leeching every drop of water as though it had an insatiable hunger for something it could never attain.

"We've found another potential excavation point," Cid announced to the little group. "It's looking more and more likely that this was a location of some ceremonial significance in the past."

"What era?" one of the students asked as they began to trek across the desert to the tents.

Cid waved a hand in an equivocal gesture. "Still uncertain, though our sponsor in Esthar seems convinced it dates back to the Tensin Era; pre or post war, we're not sure."

Finally, something interesting.

"War?" Rinoa prompted, weaving between the others to walk alongside Cid. "What war?"

Cid levelled her with a look that might have appeared condescending on anyone else. On him it just looked fatherly. "One of the greatest civil wars in history: the Clans War." He spread his arms, gesturing to the barren landscape that stretched out to a heat-blurred horizon on all sides. "This was once a great land ruled by a single man, Emperor Do'Shin, and under his rule the lands were separated into clans overseen by lords. Unfortunately the climate was beginning to change and resources were thinning, and the clans fell into dispute over territory. They hired 'family protectors'" – he inverted the term with his fingers – "though they were really mercenaries, who sustained and claimed borders, assassinated powerful family members and essentially tried to cripple their rival clans in hopes the emperor would hand over their titles and land to their respective masters."

"And did he?"

Cid scratched the side of his nose. "Well, he didn't have a chance to put down the civil war. You see, legend says there was a sorceress. Izamel, her name was. She set the two biggest clans fighting against each other. She had her two knights assassinate the lords, then she claimed the clans as her own. She used her power and their armed forces to conquer the other clans, and eventually overthrew the emperor. But her greed cost her the land; she'd scoured it to almost nothing. Hence her nickname Tyrant of the Deadlands."

_She didn't consider what wealth can be made from the natural resources of a flourishing nation, the way that Galbadia uses Timber for its lands and trade_, Rinoa thought._ She just wanted power and military force. Or maybe she knew that the land was going to die because of the climate change so didn't bother trying to sustain it. _She frowned. It seemed to her that whenever a sorceress meddled with affairs the whole thing went to pot. They cleared entire civilisations for their own purposes but from the ashes of their reign nothing grew, like a rainforest burned down to the roots.

"Anyway," Cid continued, "she died before she could move on to Esthar, which was her ultimate goal, some say. She'd wanted Do'shin's military empire as a force to rival Esthar's, though she didn't care that her ambition drove her nation to ruin."

"How did she die?"

Cid shrugged, then grinned widely. "Well, maybe we'll find out today! Texts suggest she was buried in this region." He laughed. "They say she put a curse on her tomb before she died, and whoever disturbs her will suffer her wrath."

Rinoa stared at the tents, squinting against the sunlight glancing off their white canvas backs. "You think we've found her tomb?"

"That's what our sponsor hopes!" His expression clouded momentarily, but before Rinoa could question him he scurried towards the dig with surprising nimbleness for a man of middle years, leaving Rinoa in his dust.

Sorceress Izamel. For some reason the idea of finding a sorceress' tomb made Rinoa's belly knot with unease. She shook herself. Politicians couldn't afford to be swayed by silly stories. But perhaps she could learn a thing or two about governing different political factions from the Clans War.

The new arrivals, herself among them, were debriefed in a tent near the entrance to the site and were given two bottles of water, some cheap sunscreen and some basic tools rolled up in fabric that she secured to her belt. Rinoa was assigned to the newly discovered area a short walk to the east of the main excavation site. She wasn't particularly thrilled about this. Cid suspected the mound was suspicious and so wanted it dug up, except of course they couldn't just dig in case they smashed an already smashed vase or something. Instead they needed to use their little trowels to chip away at the unaccommodating rock face, for hours and hours, taking care to inspect and evaluate even the smallest of pebbles, without any guarantee of finding anything. Cid seemed optimistic though, but then again Rinoa couldn't think of time when Cid wasn't optimistic.

As she walked to the area that was marked out with white ribbon tied between stakes, she glanced down at the trench to her left. Students and archaeologists chiselled patiently at its sides. Others sifted through dirt like miners panning for gold. Someone was taking photos of a partially unearthed skull, while a visiting professor from Balamb Museum was debating with the Assistant Head Archaeologist whether it was wise to use a trowel to pry the bones from the earth.

She sighed and peeled her shirt from her sweating back.

She spent the afternoon digging into the mound. The ground began to open up underneath her, revealing more compact rock. At one point someone excitedly declared a discovery, but Cid dismissed it as an old lizard turd with a supportive pat on the student's head.

They stopped for a break a few hours into the dig. Already Rinoa was having deep and intimate thoughts about her shower back home. Gods, she would die for a swimming pool right about now. Yet at the back of her mind the hand-in date for her dissertation loomed like thunderclouds on the horizon, and to take her mind off the gnawing anxiety she took a slow walk around the excavation site.

It spanned perhaps a quarter of a mile in total, but with every ambiguous mound discovered it was expanding to double that. Rinoa stared out at the barren landscape of Lolesterin Plains, nothing but rock and sand in all directions, and then at the scavenger birds wheeling overhead. There was a small band of mercenaries hired to stave off monsters, though there hadn't been so much as a territorial dung beetle to contend with, so they were all sprawled out in their tent, picking their nails with thin knives and playing cards.

She tried to picture the landscape as it had once been. She knew if she carried on walking another few miles she would come across a great dusty gorge in the landscape where a river had once flowed. These lands might have been fertile once. The years spanning the Tensin Era were meant to have been relatively prosperous pre-war; the houses had been tapering with slanted tiled roofs and ornate stone gardens. Rinoa remembered seeing a replica of a lady's dress in a museum once: it was made of heavy silk, wrapped around the body and secured with a thick bow at the back, all intricately embroidered with sleek, long necked birds that were long extinct. There had been a man's armour too, thick scales of leather hide underneath beaten sheets of metal.

Rinoa swept her gaze over the landscape. Dead. All dead. It was kind of depressing if she thought about it for too long. In six hundred years would a girl stand upon what had once been Timber, looking out across a plain of nothingness, and wonder what sort of people had once dwelt in the ruins?

The thought made her shiver. Had the sorceress done this, or had the climate change irrevocable scorched the landscape? Had the Lunar Cry demolished this area, or had the river dried up from natural causes and took with it the trade and prosperity of a once powerful nation?

Rinoa looked at the earth under her feet and her attention snagged on a lizard. It was nothing special to behold, its leathery skin an uninspired brown. It cocked its head, contemplating her through a slitted eye, then abruptly dived into the sand and disappeared, leaving something like a ripple in its wake.

Huh. Weird. Wasn't there just rock underneath the dust and sand? Rinoa dropped to her knees and brushed away the top layer with her hand. It took her a moment to process what she was looking at. She rapped her knuckles against it to make sure. Excitement scrambled up her throat like an animal wanting to be free, and with trembling hands she unrolled her linen tool holder and withdrew a thick bristled brush. She dusted away the debris to reveal something very large and made of stone. Strange symbols and pictures were inscribed into its surface and there was a large crack down its centre, apparently where the lizard had squeezed through.

Her exhilaration bubbled over and she leapt to her feet, shouting and waving her arms.

"Cid! Cid! I've found something!"

The cluster of archaeologists turned to stare at her. Cid separated from the group, looking red faced and sweating even in the shade of a tent. "What?" he yelled.

Rinoa frantically pointed down, grinning madly. "I've found something! I've found something!" She took a step forward. "I think it's a –"

The ground gave way beneath her feet.

She didn't have enough sense to cry out in alarm; she could do nothing but surrender to gravity. She experienced the weightless sensation of flying and for a terrifying moment she thought there had been a giant monster hiding under the sand and it had swallowed her. Then she hit the ground with a sickening jolt of pain that flashed all the way up her spine. Sand, rocks and dirt rained around her ears, knocking off her sunglasses. She yelled in fright and covered her head with her hands.

The din made way for silence. Rinoa remained splayed on the floor, hands trembling against her skull, listening to the pitter-patter of rogue pebbles skittering around her. She realised she'd been holding her breath, and stupidly she gasped in air, only to find herself choking on dust and sand.

"Rinoa! Rinoa, can you hear me?"

Rinoa squinted through the thick, tan clouds. There was a circle of light above her and she spotted the indistinct smear of faces peering over its lip.

"Stay away from the edge, children," she heard Cid say (though half the archaeologists were grown men and women). Louder, he said, "Rinoa? Are you alright?"

Rinoa performed a quick self-assessment. Other than the pain from landing on her butt and the dust filling her lungs, she seemed to be fine. "Y-yeah!"

"Hold on, we're going to come down after you! W-we'll bring ladders! And rope!" He said this as though he was suggesting bringing cake to a tea party. "Don't go anywhere! And don't touch anything!" he added.

The faces retreated and all that remained was the hushed conversation of the lingering students. Suddenly, she felt very vulnerable.

Rinoa peered into the darkness around her. The shadows seemed unnaturally dense, and as the dust began to settle the air took on a thick, heavy quality, as though it was an old tired thing roused from slumber. She resisted the peculiar instinct to call out, to check she was alone.

She found her linen cloth of tools under a layer of sand. She emptied out its contents and tied the cloth around her mouth in hopes to filter some of the dust, then retrieved a little torch from the pack.

After giving it a few whacks it flickered to life. She pointed it into the darkness. The amber beam was choked with dust, but it also revealed that she'd fallen into a chamber that was definitely not dried up underground waterways. Quite the opposite: it was _manmade_.

The room was roughly hexagonal and large enough to throw back echoes. It was carved from great slabs of grey stone, and each flat surface was scribed from ceiling to floor with alien script. She approached the nearest wall and, gingerly, ran a hand over the markings. When was the last time anyone had seen this? Touched this? It could have been one hundred or one thousand years old for all Rinoa's knowledge extended, but she definitely knew it was old.

She turned slowly, letting the thin beam of light slide over each surface. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness now as the sun greedily poured its light through the hole she'd made in the ceiling and diluted the shadows.

Her attention snagged on a lump at the far end of the room. She crossed the space cautiously, walking through the halo of light and back into shadow. Unhelpful recollections sprang to the forefront of her mind, mainly the traps that the old Vathrians used to build in their temples: spiked walls, snake pits, poison darts spat from invisible nooks. Or was that the latest adventure movie she'd seen? In the darkness of the ancient chamber it seemed interchangeable now.

The lump took form as a stone chest laid on its side astride a featureless altar. It was as long as she was tall and wide enough that if she was slightly insane she could have squeezed into it…

She recoiled, fear impaling her with a sharp spike.

_A coffin. It's a freaking coffin. It's… it's…_

Izamel.

The name stuck in her brain like a pin in a cushion and she was suddenly shaking with foolish superstition. Foolish, silly, very un-political superstition. Yet said baseless fear stirred the hairs on her neck and she shivered. What if the ceiling caved in and she trapped in here? Would she hear scratching inside the coffin? Hear the crackly breathing of someone else? Here the slow creak of hinges as the lid slid open?

_Stop it! There's nothing in there but old bones. _

She swept the torch light around the coffin in search for the treasure. But there were no chests spilling gold onto the flagstone floor, no golden statues with ruby eyes, no giant emeralds atop pedestals. There was, however, two long boxes beside the coffin; one on each side. She recalled how the Vathrian emperors and empresses would sometimes be buried with their pets or children, more often than not the latter being buried alive to oversee their passage to the afterlife.

The thought made her skin crawl again. That said, if these artefacts really were from the Tensin Era, sacrificial burial was never practiced. But did sorceresses even adhere to collective tradition? All the sorceresses she'd read about seemed to reshape, destroy and create tradition according to whatever mood they were in at the time.

She paused near one of the boxes, fingers twitching nervously. From the hole in the ceiling she heard fervent discussion about lowering a ladder. Apparently the rubble meant it was too unsafe.

Cid said she shouldn't touch anything, but… what harm would lifting a lid do? It looked sturdy enough, and if, for whatever reason, it did disintegrate under her touch, she could always say she found it like that.

Curiosity overwhelming caution, Rinoa wedged her torch between her teeth and angled it towards the box. It was scribed with the same characters as the walls and coffin and sported just a single, silver latch. She flicked it open and lifted the lid. It was stiff and unforgiving under her grip, like an eye groggily opening to harsh morning sunlight.

There was a sword inside, one like she'd never seen before. Despite being buried for centuries, its long blade flashed brightly in the torchlight, capturing her reflection and throwing back her light, almost like a rebuff. _Go away,_ it seemed to say, _leave me alone_.

She ran a finger along the metal, cool under her fingers. She shifted the light to the handle. It was wrapped in black leather and etched with the face of some beast mid-roar. A lion? They had been extinct for some six hundred years. Well. Since the time of Izamel, she supposed.

The sharp sound of a rock hissing across the floor behind her made her shriek. The torch tumbled from her mouth, smashing against the stone floor and plunging her into semi-darkness. The lid of the box snapped shut as her fingers flew up in fright and she scurried backwards on her hands, heart hammering in her chest, into the sanctuary of the light cast from the hole.

"Are you okay?"

Cid's voice, calling down to her like some concerned god through a gap in the clouds.

Rinoa's gaze raked the shadows. Something moved in the corner. Fear clogged her throat and banished the air from her lungs. She could only sit and wait for it to take form.

The same lizard from the desert waddled out from under a rock and she deflated like a popped balloon, breath hissing out of her and shoulders slumping.

"F-fine… I'm fine. I was just… stupid," she answered lamely.

"Oh. Okay. Well. Don't touch anything," Cid reiterated. "We're going to send down the jeep's winch as it's too dangerous to lower ropes."

"A-alright."

Rinoa drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. Her eyes were fixed on the coffin. For some reason she felt like it was staring at her. Taunting her. _What are you afraid of_? it seemed to say_. I'm just an empty box. Come see. Come see…_

_I can't believe I've discovered this,_ Rinoa thought. Would the credit go to Cid or would her name be written down in history? Her face split into a smug grin. _Take that, daddy. I've unearthed a priceless artifact, all for Esthar's gain._

Her grin faltered a bit. Once it was in Esthar's grasp she'd probably never see its contents. At least not in person. It would be ferreted away by the secretive, greedy authorities in Esthar. If it was valuable or held residual magic, the news of its discovery would never even make international news. Would Cid let them open it once it was properly excavated from the chamber? Or would he ship it straight to Esthar?

Rinoa pursed her lips. Of course it would be the latter. Its contents might disintegrate when exposed to the elements outside. However, if it was still in its original chamber, maybe it wouldn't be so bad…?

The coffin remained unmoved. The lizard contemplated her, then blinked and unhurriedly retreated to a shadowy nook and disappeared.

_Just a little peek won't hurt…_

Rinoa stood up and approached the coffin. The crunch of gravel underneath her boots seemed unbearably loud in the soupy air of the chamber. She felt her forehead bead with sweat even though it was quite cool. She knelt beside the coffin and hesitantly touched the lid -

She snatched her hand back in alarm. Had she felt a pulse go up her arm or was it her imagination? She shook her head.

"Stupid…"

Her voice was way too loud in the chamber and she had the uneasy feeling that coffin might think she was insulting it.

"Not you," she clarified.

She trailed her fingers along its side, resolutely turning away any images her brain drew from the depths of her consciousness, mainly horror movie archives involving zombies and vampires, and replaced her unfounded fear with business-like stoicism. Afterall, she could hear the jeep's engine starting up so she probably didn't have long before she was rescued.

She braced her feet against the floor, bit her lip and pushed.

For a moment she thought it wasn't going to budge, then there was the sound of stone grinding against stone and she was shifting it forward. Forward and forward, inch by inch, until there was a pool of darkness underneath her.

The coffin was open.

Rinoa straightened and peered into the darkness. The sparse light thinned the shadows, revealing a cluster of objects inside and –

A great cloud of dust exploded out of the coffin and directly into Rinoa's face. She yelped, raising her arms to shield her mouth, then realised with horror that it was not dust but flies, hundreds of them, swarming over skin. She reared backwards and screamed, a choked, animalistic noise, and clawed at her skin with her nails, trying to scrape off the insects that were skittering over her limbs, buzzing and chittering, under her clothes, drinking her sweat. She clenched her eyes shut, dared not open them lest the flies got in, but she thought she saw purple light flare behind her eyelids.

Everything became eerily still. She opened her eyes and stopped scrabbling. She looked down at her arms, her legs, her torso, the backs of her hands. There were no flies. There was no dust. Her pale skin was streaked red from where she'd clawed herself in a frenzy.

_What in Hyne's name…?_

She looked at the coffin and her heart stopped. The lid. The lid was back in place.

_No. No. I moved it I know I moved it. _

She took a step back. Panic was threatening to snap its leash and tear apart her rationality. Her breath was short and ragged, like she'd been running.

_I have sunstroke,_ she reasoned as she slowly rubbed the welts on her arms._ Or maybe I didn't move it. Maybe it was just a trick of the light and I thought I had but…_

But she had smelt it. The waft of foul, dry air that had rested undisturbed for centuries. And the cloud of darkness that had launched at her face –

_Stop. Sunstroke. That's all it is. Fear makes people irrational, illogical._

"Rinoa! _Rinoa_!"

The voice sounded frightened. She realised it was Cid's and that he must have been calling her for some time.

"I –ark - " Her voice came out as a rasp. She swallowed, her tongue like sand, and tried again. "I'm here! I'm… okay. I'd quite like to get out of this hole now."

"We've already lowered the winch!" Cid really sounded concerned now.

Rinoa turned around, away from the coffin, and blinked into the bright sunlight filtering through the hole. True enough a thick cord of wire had been lowered into the chamber, with a hook attached to the end large enough to comfortably wedge her foot into. She took a grateful step towards it –

A shadow shifted at the other end of the chamber, right in front of her. The movement froze her to the spot, hands raised to grab the rope, one foot in front of the other.

Cid's voice seemed very far away. "Rinoa? Rinoa, what is it?"

There were two figures standing in front of her. They were dipped in shadow, featureless but intimidating, both taller and broader than she. Her fragmented mind tried to convince her they were statues she had not noticed before, but she caught the minute movements. Breathing. Slight tilt of the head. The faint creak of leather. The light snatched little details: the gleam of the whites of their eyes, the glint of teeth – was one _smiling_?

_Oh my gods oh my gods oh my gods_

Something in her snapped and thrust her into movement. She grabbed the rope with both hands, jammed her foot into the hook and clamped her eyes shut. She wanted to scream for them to haul her up, health and safety be damned, just put the pedal to the metal and get her the fuck out of here, but the terror had left her mute. She just stood there and shook and kept her eyes fixed shut and waited, like how she used to hide under the covers as a child after a nightmare.

_Oh my gods oh my gods oh my gods_

Something pressed against her mind, gentle pressure both probing and wary. The beginning of a headache whipped across her temple. What was happening to her?

It seemed like she stood in that chamber, clinging to the rope with sweat-slick hands, for an eternity, but it must only have been seconds before the mercenaries began winching her up. She rose from the chamber like a soul ascending to the heavens, except she was shaking and crying, dry sobs of fear wracking her chest.

_Get me out oh god please I'll do anything just get me out_

Every second she anticipated a skeletal hand to snatch her ankle and pull her back into the darkness, but she was hoisted back onto the hot, unforgiving ground of the desert without incident. She scrabbled as far from the hole as possible before collapsing into an inconsolable heap.

Cid knelt down beside her, a wide grin cracking his face.

"So, how does it feel to be the first person to discover Izamel's tomb?"

Rinoa burst into tears.


	2. Mine Forever, Bound Together

Thanks to those who read and reviewed! I hope the upcoming chapters don't disappoint. Here come the boys ;)

* * *

**Chapter Two  
**_Mine Forever, Bound Together_

Rinoa stared with vacant, glassy eyes across the bar as she moved the wet cloth over the drink-stained surface in a comforting circular motion. She was disconnected from her surroundings; the pulse of the music was dull to her ears and the conversation of the cliental nonsensical jabber. When a hand touched her arm she jumped and threw a startled look over her shoulder.

"Expecting someone else?" Selphie said, the joke thinly pasting over her concern.

Rinoa bobbed a shoulder apologetically. "Sorry. I'm kinda spaced out."

"You've been spaced out for the last couple of days. Are you – " She was cut off by someone hollering across the bar. A young man with a beard he probably thought was cool, stirring the air with his empty glass. Selphie huffed, topped up his drink, and punched some numbers onto his tab. "As I was saying, I'm worried about you, Rin. You haven't been yourself. You doin' okay? Is it the dissertation?"

Rinoa grimaced. She'd been trying hard to put that out of her mind and focus on, well, getting better, she supposed. Or at least focussing on not focussing on the dissertation and its impeding due date.

Selphie caught her wince. "How much have you done?"

"Um…"

Her pretty face screwed up incredulously. "You haven't even started?"

"Well…"

Selphie threw up her hands. "C'mon, seriously. Don't kid me here. What's wrong?" Her eyes shifted downwards, then she snatched the wet cloth out of Rinoa's hand and lobbed it across the bar. It hit the mirrored back wall and stuck there like a starfish. "And stop that! You've been cleaning that one spot for fifteen minutes! Look!" She jabbed at the spot. "It's so clean I can almost see my face in it!"

Rinoa attempted a giggle but it came out like a strained cough. "Honestly?"

"Honestly," Selphie prompted.

"I haven't been feeling well. I think I got sunstroke at the dig, or picked up some weird flu thing. I don't know. I think it will pass in a few days but –"

"You need rest." Selphie's eyes needled into hers, trimmed with concern and the kind of annoyingly accurate insight only true friends possessed. "You need rest but between working, lectures, the internship and the dissertation…"

"Yeah. It's not working out too great."

Selphie patted her hand. "You know you don't need to work, Rin."

Rinoa jerked away from her touch. Maybe she didn't need to work but after Caraway made some condescending jab about her 'mixing with the rabble' she'd gotten a job at a bar to prove a point. She didn't need his money.

Well. Except she kind of did. She didn't know any other way to live. But she still maintained the job anyway, just to show him she could. At any rate, she didn't need people bringing up her parental ties all the time. She'd told Selphie about _that man_ because she thought she'd understand, but, being orphaned, she didn't.

"I need the money so I'm staying. Don't tell the boss I'm sick, okay? He might send me home."

Selphie looked sceptical, then shrugged. She hadn't even realised she'd hit a sore spot with Rinoa, but in truth Rinoa was just glad she was allowed to continue working, if only to distract her from her own thoughts.

The 'Brave Face' was a student bar situated a stone's throw from the University dorms, so it was always heaving and always rowdy, every night of the week. The bar became more crowded as the night progressed, and the low hum of conversation soon rivalled the blare of the music from the jukebox. At one end of the bar a boy was making heavy handed passes to a girl with red streaks in her hair. In the middle was a group of boys wearing matching T-shirts that had 'Lads On Tour' written across their backs, and they were going through so much tequila Rinoa had run out of limes and had to substitute them with lemons, but by then they were so drunk they didn't even notice.

There was no pause between the steady flow of patrons that demanded and sang and wailed their requests. She'd long since given up turning down drinks and phone numbers scrawled on napkins and the backs of receipts. The latter went straight in the trash, unless the guy was particularly cute, then she stashed them in an empty glass under the counter.

The night wore on and the endless stream of faces seemed to blur before her eyes; the pounding of the hip Deling dance music chorused the beating inside her skull. The beating that hadn't gone away since she'd left Izamel's tomb –

_No. Don't think about that._

She didn't entirely lie to Selphie. It was true that didn't feel well. She hadn't felt well since the dig. But she was too scared to go to the doctor because, well, she wasn't sure a doctor could cure what she had. Whatever it was it didn't feel… natural. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she felt something shift inside of her: in her soul and mind and body. She was changing, tapping into frequencies both internal and external; something in that tomb had sparked an ember in her very being and with every second it grew brighter and hotter. She wondered what would happen when it became a fire, raging out of control. Was she dying? Was she… kursed?

_Cursed_, Rinoa corrected uneasily, for the word had sounded different inside her head. An alien word that had wrapped itself almost naturally around her thoughts. Like -

Someone snapped fingers in front of her nose and she recoiled in disgust. The boy on the other side of the bar wore a baseball cap backwards like the trend hadn't stopped being cool fifteen years ago, if it had been cool at all. He flashed her a drawn out, white toothed smile that he probably thought was attractive, but Rinoa just found smarmy.

"You gonna serve me or just stare into my eyes all night?" he drawled.

Rinoa rolled her eyes. She wasn't in the mood to deal with these cocky frat boys. Her shift was over in half an hour and if she could just make it through without being hassled that would be just great.

"What do you want?" she asked with clipped civility.

"For you to come to my house party after your shift finishes," he responded easily.

"No. What do you want to drink?"

His smile dropped a fraction. "Aw, c'mon. Your friend Selphie is goin'. She's a real party."

Rinoa glanced sideways at her friend who downing a shot with a cowboy hat sitting askew on her head. She snorted a laugh despite herself. He sure was right about that, at least.

"So?" he prompted.

Rinoa offered him a watery smile. On any other night she would have considered his offer. Frat parties were the best parties, full of good looking guys and free booze, so she could forget all the boring degree work and the sorry state of Timber and just be Rinoa.

Except she didn't feel like Rinoa tonight. She just felt weird. And kinda mad. Mad at this stupid boy and his stupid backwards cap and stupid persistent grin.

She reached up and massaged her temple. The headache pulsed against her finger and in a part of her mind she hadn't known existed until the _Incident_ at the tomb, something quested and prodded, a question that she couldn't quite hear playing across her mind. Was it even possible for someone to not hear their own thoughts? She was so confused.

The headache pulsed in agreement.

"What drink do you want?" she asked again.

Finally acknowledging the annoyance openly laid out on her face, the boy just shrugged, ordered his drink, and moved on to another group of her girls.

Rinoa huffed despite herself and discreetly edged her top down an inch more to flaunt her cleavage. Laugh her off so easily, would he? Well, it was his loss. There'd be other boys who would take the time to win her interest.

Her shift passed with no notable incidents, save for a small fight that broke out near the toilets and ended with the bouncers throwing out a drunk young man with a bloody nose. Eventually the bar was empty and not long after that it was locked down, and Rinoa stepped out into the night. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat, shoulder's hunched against the chill. The night promised frost. Somewhere from the direction of the dorms was the distant thrum of a heavy bassline, and down an alley someone smashed a bottle and laughed. A black cat darted across the road, tail fluffed up like it was being chased.

"We're going to the party!" Selphie declared. She was in the arms of some tall, long haired man in a duster coat and she was waving a cowboy hat like it was the most normal thing in the world. Rinoa bet he was an English Lit student, or on some kind of flunkey course like Social Media.

"Come with us!" Selphie cooed. "You need to loosen up, Rinny."

Rinoa giggled and batted away the hat she was flapping in her face. "Not tonight. I have a headache. Okay?"

Selphie pouted. "Spoilsport. Need an escort home?"

"I'll manage," Rinoa said. Even though, admittedly, she was scared of the dark and always took the long way home because all the short cuts were unlit streets and alleys. And that had been her habit _before_ the Incident. Now the ten minute walk back to her apartment seemed like a marathon.

Selphie must have caught her hesitation because she tapped the tall guy on the end of his nose and he put her down like an obedient horse. "I don't mind."

Rinoa skipped away, pasting a wide smile on her face. "No, I'm going, don't chase me!" And then she darted down an alley.

She heard Selphie mutter something, then call out, "Text me when you get home, okay?"

"Okay!" Rinoa called, trudging backwards into the shadow, as if she was really walking home that way.

She waited until Selphie and her escort had vanished in the direction of the dorms, then she emerged from the alley and walked along the well-lit road, her only companion the throbbing at the base of her skull.

It certainly wasn't late by student standards. The Brave Face closed at one in the morning but the parties and clubs remained open until at least four. There was a long queue outside ELASTIC, the cheap and cheerful nightclub at the end of Booker Street. Rinoa avoided it at all costs; it was a hangout for off duty Galbadian soldiers, and they were looking for trouble in whatever form happened to saunter by. She wasn't afraid of them. No; if anything, they made her angry. They'd get what was coming to them. Eventually. Just not tonight. So she gave ELASTIC a wide berth, but still stuck to the main roads that were clogged with taxis and Galbadian patrol cars.

She was a street away from her home when she realised she was being followed. There was still a steady flow of revellers travelling the streets so she'd thought nothing of it, but when one of them shouted her ears picked up the subject of their laughter: her. She did not look back but casually hurried her pace. In the reflection of a shop window she saw there was a small group of men trailing behind her. The guy with backwards baseball cap was among them, grinning and elbowing his comrades.

Rinoa bit down the lump of fear rising in her throat. She was almost home. Maybe if she ran - ? No. That would be like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey; surely they would chase her. Better to ignore them.

She wrapped her coat around her self-consciously, suddenly annoyed that she'd picked the low cut black top that was maybe just a bit too tight to be called modest. Her heeled boots clacked against the sidewalk and a taxi raced past her, headlights flooding the road with white pools of light. The beams revealed a light drizzle of rain she hadn't even noticed was falling. It reminded her of the dust choking that chamber, captured in the slice of light cast by the torch –

_Stop thinking about it!_

A hand on her shoulder. She gasped in shock and stumbled. Laughter behind her. A lot of laughter.

"Hey, slow down."

The boy with the cap.

Something inside Rinoa broke and she darted down the nearest alley. Her apartment was literally on the adjacent street, all she had to do was cut through the alley rather than go the long way up the street and doubling back on herself like she usually did. She could outrun them, she knew she could. She was smaller and faster –

"Hey!"

She acknowledged the sharp jeer in his voice at the same time he grabbed her arm and spun her around. The alley was steeped in shadow and the boys crowded its narrow entrance like fish funnelled into a net.

She forced her voice to be steady, her arm stiff under his fingers. "What is it? What?"

"I'd really like you to go to the party with me," he said.

One of the boys behind him barked out a short laugh and was promptly elbowed. Rinoa's gaze darted between them and the shadowy face of Backwards-cap Boy.

"No. I told you no," she said, sharply. "Why are you following me?"

"It's just one party," the boy insisted. "And then I'll leave you alone, okay?"

"You'll leave me alone right now. Or I'll call the police."

The boy scoffed and his grip tightened on her arm until it hurt. "No one's coming to help you."

She kicked him between the legs.

The breath whooshed out of him and smelt like the spiced Trabian beer she'd served him earlier. He released her arm and dropped to his knees. "Fuh-fuck you, buh-bitch!" he spat.

His lackeys surged forward in a herald of whoops and curses, a pack of mad dogs, and Rinoa turned and ran on wobbly legs the other way. She could still make it to the apartment, she could still -

Two men barricaded the other end of the alley: her only escape route, the path to her apartment, to safety. She bleated something despairing, just a noise really, a squawk clawing at her throat. She raised her arms in terror, a useless protective gesture, as her momentum propelled her forward and she collided into them.

One of the men reached out and gripped her arm; firmly but not aggressively. Her breath hitched in her throat and she struggled for an instant, but then he pulled her behind him and the other man, creating a barrier between herself and her pursuers, freeing her from the trap.

She could have run then, but curiosity stilled that impulse. The two men were forged from shadow, drenched in it like the night was an ocean; she could not make out their features. They were definitely not uniformed but they cut ominous figures regardless. An air of casual danger radiated from them both like blood seeping from a wound. The hairs on her arms prickled and the pounding in her head became a steady, reassuring thrum. There was something familiar about them, both taller and broader than she, one taller than the other though, shifting almost impatiently in the darkness.

She gasped, staggered backwards.

No.

It couldn't be. She was crazy. Someone had slipped something into her drink. She was over-tired. She was sick. It had to be something because there's no way –

The light from a single street lamp threw a stark square of yellow across the back of one of the men, and there it was, glinting coldly against black leather like a murderous grin: the sword she'd found in the chest inside Izamel's tomb.

The man looked over his shoulder, as if sensing her stare, and the light caught his eyes and set them aglow. They were unnaturally blue, almost neon, predatory and cold; they offered no suggestion about his intentions and she felt a different flavour of fear grip her, more deep seated and raw than the fright she'd felt when those boys had chased her into the alleyway.

The word was spoken in monotone, neither a threat or a command. "Run."

She gawped at him for what seemed like a lifetime, then she nodded, even though he wasn't looking at her anymore, and then she swallowed, and then she ran. Ran towards the familiar door of her apartment. She fumbled with her key, hands shaking beyond her control. She dropped the key, fished it out of a pile of litter dumped by the door, then rammed it into the lock and twisted.

A scream cut through the air. She paused, door half open, sanctuary a hair breadth away. She heard a clang, and the scream became a gurgle. There was a yell, a curse, someone yelping in dismay, then the sound of feet pounding the sidewalk. Another scream, chilling her blood, then silence. Stillness. Nothing.

Rinoa threw herself into the apartment block and slammed the door behind her. She sprinted up the stairs, stumbling at the last step, then repeated the whole fumbling process with the door to her own apartment. She all but fell inside, shut the door, locked and bolted it, then sank to the floor, back pressed against the wooden frame.

Her breath came in ragged bursts, tears of fright trembling at the corners of her eyes. Her heart thumped against her ribcage and her bladder felt weak. Slowly, she clasped both hands over her mouth, staring across her tiny apartment without really seeing it.

_What. Just. Happened._

* * *

Somehow, she slept. In the morning she marvelled at that feat, though it certainly hadn't come easily. She'd laid awake for hours, sensitive to the sound of every passer-by: the easy laughter, the raucous jokes, the belligerent yelling. The shadows seemed to shift around her room like bats, so for the first time since she was six-years-old, she slept with her bedside lamp on.

Only now, as she contemplated the morning light filtering through her white drapes, was she able to really consider the events over the past few days. She tried to be speculative and open minded while retaining a certain edge of rationality.

First point of discussion: her illness. Or whatever it was. She suffered from bouts of inexplicable dizziness that came and went as fleetingly as a spring shower. She had tingling in her extremities, a constant headache, a loss of appetite, the occasional fever. These were all quantifiable symptoms. If she proposed them to a doctor he'd say she was tired: she needed to eat more, rest more, recuperate.

But that was before she added the _other_ symptoms to the list.

Yesterday morning she was sitting at the end of her breakfast bar, which divided her open plan kitchen from her spacious living area, picking at cereal and going over the notes from her last lecture on citizen's affairs. She went to reach for her glass of orange juice, but she'd left it by the microwave. She looked at it, momentarily disgruntled, thought of picking it up, and then it moved.

The glass of orange juice moved on its own.

Rinoa tried to rationalise it: the counter was wet, it was too close to the edge, a Galbadian tank must had thundered down the road outside and the vibrations made it fall over. But. If she was honest, truly honest, it hadn't jolted. It had slid smoothly across the counter, hovered six inches through thin air, and then it dropped to the floor and smashed.

So. Yeah. There was that.

And perhaps something even more alarming had happened the night previous to that. She'd been running late for work and was hurriedly doing her makeup, leaning over her sink inches from the mirror, applying mascara. In her rush she managed to poke herself in the eye. Not just a little jab but a real tear-inducing stab that made her drop the mascara and yell out in pain. The pain turned to anger and frustration. She'd picked up the mascara and in a tantrum she went it throw it across the room, but then she'd caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Her eyes were no longer the soft brown of hot cocoa. They were yellow. Cat yellow. Flashing brightly like a pair of gold coins. She blinked and the mirror cracked down the middle, as though it had been punched. It did not shatter, and between the fissures she saw that her eyes were brown again.

It was over so fast she wondered if it had been a trick of the light. The cracking? An inexplicable accident. The mirror was quite old, afterall. So if said it enough times she might have convinced herself that was true but –

She wasn't so sure.

Rinoa sat up in bed and stared down at her hands. They were beginning to tingle again. It was part of her morning ritual now. She flexed her fingers experimentally and the tingling increased. It wasn't like pins-and-needles, more like her blood had been replaced with little sparks. She wondered if she would bleed glitter and gold.

Rinoa frowned. She reached across to the book on her bedside table ('Economic Structures of Old Dollet') and, after a moment's hesitation she sharply jerked the paper's edge across her finger. The paper-cut oozed red blood. She sucked it. Normal. Good.

She wondered if she should tell someone. All superstition aside, what if that old tomb had held traces of some kind of plague or disease? What if the insides of the coffin had contained something rotten that had made her sick? It wasn't terribly unlikely she supposed. Maybe the Sorceress' kurse – _curse, curse, curse_ \- was actually a metaphor for the sickness she'd died from? Maybe it had been a warning meant to deter grave robbers?

_Maybe I'm Patient Zero_, she thought with misplaced wonder, thinking about the recent zombie movie she'd watched. Then she shook her head. _This is serious._

It sure was. Her mind turned back to the mysterious men from last night… the same ones she'd seen during the Incident. Everything rational left in her mind screamed that they couldn't be the same people. There was no way.

But… Okay. _But_. What if they had been mercenaries? The mercs from the camp? They somehow followed her down into the tomb and were going to murder her – maybe murder all of them – if they'd found treasure. That seemed like the kind of crazy thing mercs would do, right? Maybe they'd been sent by the Galbadians to intercept any findings before they could be relinquished to Esthar.

She bit her lip. Her theory wasn't implausible but… she had been so sure that no one had been in that tomb when she'd fallen through the trapdoor, and surely she would have noticed if someone had dropped in after her? Also, there was something strange about those two men. Something… _off_. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, the way she couldn't quite put her finger on the alien sensation growing inside her soul and mind.

She saw again the curious blue of that man's eyes and shivered.

She would tell Cid, she decided. She had better tell someone, afterall.

But first she really needed to start her dissertation.

Rinoa climbed out of bed and tried to stretch out her unease and the tingling that was creeping up her arms. There was an icy stirring in her belly this morning, unlike yesterday, when it had been hot as fire. It didn't hurt – it felt nice, actually. But it definitely wasn't normal.

She went into the bathroom and tugged off her the old shirt and tracksuit shorts that paraded as pyjamas. She contemplated her body in the mirror. She looked normal. A bit skinnier maybe, but then again she hadn't eaten much since the Incident. She shrugged inwardly. She needed to lose a few pounds anyway.

She climbed into the shower. The steam fogged up the glass divider and she relished the patter of hot water against her skin. There was a bruise blossoming on her arm from where Baseball-cap Guy had grabbed her. She shirked at the memory and shoved it away, washing her hair and the stink of old booze from her skin.

She felt a little more clear headed when she stepped out the shower and almost managed a smile as she brushed her wet hair into a loose tail. Pink lips peeled away from pearly teeth and she nodded at her refection, at her nice normal _brown_ eyes.

She'd been silly about the whole thing. She'd go to the doctor later and then to Cid, and between the two of them maybe they could weasel out the irrational thoughts she'd been having. And this morning she would definitely sit down and make a start on her dissertation.

Rinoa wrapped herself in a fluffy pink towel and opened the bathroom door.

The man in her kitchen was inspecting the contents of her fridge. He plucked a wedge of processed cheese from one of the shelves, turned it over and over as if looking for something, muttered to himself, then tossed it over his shoulder, where it landed with an unappetising splat on the floor among a graveyard of similarly discarded food. He then slid a carton of orange juice from the fridge door, unscrewed the cap, sniffed it, then drank straight from the carton.

Rinoa watched as he downed what must have been half a litre of juice in one go, her mouth hanging open and hand still on the bathroom door handle. He noticed her mid-drink, eyes like chips of polished jade sliding to fix her with a half interested stare. He finally stopped drinking, lifted his eyebrows at her, then ran a hand through his cropped blonde hair and smirked.

She was about to scream or shout or do something, _anything_, but then a second figure caught her attention. He was the darker featured of the two; longer brown hair swept back from the blue eyes she recognised from yesterday. He leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe to her bedroom, arms crossed and expression unimpressed.

For a moment the only sound that could be heard was the drip-drip of water that fell from the ends of her wet hair and onto the laminated floor of her living room. Rinoa's gaze ping-ponged between the two of them, then she retreated back into the bathroom, shut the door and locked it.

* * *

Occasionally she gleaned hushed conversation from the other side of the door. One was definitely annoyed, the other coolly dismissive. After some time she realised they were arguing over what to do. Said argument was a fantastic means of stalling, but that didn't really help her, because she didn't have any options.

The bathroom window didn't fully open so she couldn't climb out, and there was no one walking down the streets to call out to; it was still too early. She thought about writing 'help' on her tshirt with lipstick and hanging it out the window, but what was the likelihood of someone looking up and seeing it in time? Much less being able to read it when she was four storeys up.

Okay. Or. She could jump up and down on the floor until the neighbours below came upstairs to tell her to keep the noise down? Then she could scream for help and they could call the police. Unless… the men killed the neighbour first. Which would be terrible. Really terrible.

Too risky.

She looked around the bathroom for something she could use as a weapon. Toothbrush, hairbrush, shampoo bottles, moisturizers… Ah ha! She picked up her razor, but the feeling of elation died quickly. Could she really fight off those two men with one measly razor?

Her planning was severed when a fist pounded against the bathroom door. She squealed and brandished the razor like a knife. It trembled in her pale hands.

"Deysi," a man on the other side of the door said with tight sweetness. "Open the door."

He spoke in an unpleasantly clipped language she did not recognise, had not ever learned much less heard spoken, yet she knew it as well as she knew her own name. Rinoa bit her lip. The razor trembled harder.

"Deysi." The voice wasn't so sweet now. She realised in terror that he was getting angry. "_Please_ open the door."

"You better leave now!" Rinoa tried to sound threatening but she practically shrieked each word, which were spoken fluently in the Other language. "I –I mean it! The police are on their way as we speak! I… my phone is in here and I've called them!"

A moment's silence. She heard one say: "Who're the police?"

"Guards?"

"Nothin' we can't deal with."

The man outside banged on the door again. "You know, doors are immaterial to us. We can teleport to the other side anytime we want to." His voice took on a sardonic edge that seemed to come naturally, easily, like an accent. "But Squall says I have to be _nice_."

"I didn't say nice," came the drone of the other one. Squall, apparently. "I said we should assess the situation from a distance and approach with caution."

"Caution, nice, who cares? It's all very time-consuming."

"Whatever."

There was an inpatient huff. "Deysi, if I have to be alone with him for another second I can't promise I won't redecorate your home with his entrails."

Rinoa climbed into the bathtub, fear snatching a response from her tongue.

The huff came again, even more impatient this time. When he hammered on the door it juddered on its hinges and she squeaked in fright.

"Will you just… _open_ _the gods-damned door_!"

"Stop." The other voice, laced with annoyance but still oddly monotone. "You're frightening her, can't you feel that?"

"Oh, I'm _sorry_. I think spending six hundred years in stasis has drained me of whatever patience I had in the first place."

"Get out of the way."

There was shuffling, and this time there was a gentler knock, albeit still firm. "Deysi? We… must speak with you."

Rinoa said nothing. Maybe if she was quiet they'd think she'd climbed out the window and go away.

As if he'd read her thoughts, he flatly stated, "We know you haven't climbed out the window."

_Dammit_. Her voice was thin with fear as she called out. "What do you want? I don't have any cash. My jewellery is in a box under the bed. Take it and go!"

"What?" His voice was genuinely confused. "We don't… don't get… paid?"

So they _were_ mercenaries! Mercs with chips on their shoulders because they never got paid by their Estharian client. Understandable, really. Luckily, money wasn't something Rinoa was short on. Or moreover, her father wasn't anyway. "Look, my father he's… an important person. He'll pay you whatever you want. Just bring me my phone and he can arrange payment."

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Knowing her father he'd just kill them. But if that's what it took then…

A baffled pause. "Your what?"

"My father."

"No, the – the other thing."

She hesitated, as perplexed as he sounded. "My… phone?"

Brief discussion outside the door. An angry dismissal from the other one. More shuffling, and the door was banged on again, shuddering against the doorframe.

The first one again. "Last chance, deysi! If you don't come out I'm gonna kick down this door!"

Oh gods. He wouldn't. Would he? No. He couldn't.

He could.

There was a sharp crack, like an axe biting into a tree trunk. The whole door ballooned inwards, creaking and groaning. One more sharp crack and the door burst open, ripped from its hinges, and fell flat onto the bathroom floor with a bang. Rinoa screamed and shielded her face against the explosion of splinters. She stared between her fingers at the men looming in the ruined entrance, the razor in her hand suddenly painfully inadequate.

A brief flicker of guilt flashed across the blonde one's face when he saw her cowering in the bathtub, but he obscured it with a sneer as he crossed the bathroom towards her. "Seriously? Really? The most powerful being in the world reduced to hiding in a bath wielding… wielding…" He plucked the razor from her hand, then chucked it over his shoulder. Apparently he did that a lot. "Whatever the hells that thing was. Get up. I'm not talking to you in a bathtub."

"Don't you touch me!" she shrieked.

Interestingly, it stilled his hand. He let it drop to his side, expression irate.

From over by the doorway, Squall grunted ambiguously. "When did you decide to treat her so violently? That's low, even for you, Seifer."

Seifer's eyes flashed and he bared his teeth at Squall, voice a dog's growl. "'Her'? This isn't 'her'." He gestured sharply at Rinoa. "This isn't our Sorceress. She isn't Izamel."

Rinoa stiffened, her blood running cold in her veins.

"She is," Squall said evenly. "You know she is. I know she is. Otherwise we wouldn't be here."

"Something's gone wrong." Seifer's tone was even now. He barged past Squall and into the living room, where she heard him sit heavily on the couch. "_You_ get her out of the fuckin' bathtub, then."

Squall turned a hesitant look on Rinoa, tapping a finger against his bicep. Then he sighed heavily, and crossed the bathroom. He held out a gloved hand. "Deysi."

She looked at his hand, up to his face, then back to his hand. "Why do you keep calling me that?" she whispered.

He cocked his head. "That is what you are. My – our – deysi."

Abruptly the word clicked into place in her mind, inexplicably revealed by powers of alien insight. Roughly translated into the common tongue, it meant mistress, lady, or even princess or queen. It was a formal title used by knights when addressing their sorceress; it was a mark of reverence, of respect, of loyalty.

Suddenly Rinoa felt a little sick.

Squall's eyes clouded with confusion. His hand faltered. "Deysi?"

"I, uh…" She shook her head. Tried to clear her thoughts. "Rinoa. My name is Rinoa."

"Rinoa." He repeated the word like it was a food he was tasting for the first time. There was hardness around his mouth that left her uneasy, but something warm behind his eyes, like a gold-scaled koi swimming beneath a layer of ice.

Hesitantly, and against her better instincts, she reached out and took his hand.


	3. Firestarter

Thank you to everyone who had reviewed so far. I appreciate it a lot. Nice to see both new and familiar faces! Now, on with the madness!

* * *

**Chapter Two**  
_Firestarter_

Rinoa's sofa set was a sprawling mound of silk throws and pink printed cushions that curved around a wide screen television and the tall windows behind it. There was an armchair at the far end, and Rinoa perched on that with her knees drawn up to her chest, buried amongst the cushions and her pink towel, staring wide eyed at the two home invaders. And for the first time, she got a good look at them without a veil of fear obscuring her view.

The blonde one, Seifer, was something out of the fairytale books her nanny used to read to her as a child: tall, broad shouldered, blue eyed and fair haired, with high cheek bones and a strong jaw. He was indisputably handsome, but the illusion of those heroes of old was perverted by the sharp arrogance in his eyes, the way he stared disdainfully down his nose at her, and the smirk that tugged on the corners of his lips. He was reclined lazily on the sofa opposite her, one ankle crossed over his knee, arms spread akimbo. His open body language didn't so much insinuate confidence as it did invite a challenge:_ I'm here – what ya gonna do about it?_

Squall, on the otherhand, leaned against the breakfast bar with his arms crossed, expression and body language closed, though not so much to imply his impatience but to put up a barrier of sorts, or so Rinoa thought. Between the scowl (as permanent a fixture as Seifer's smirk) and the smile-less line of his mouth, his expression was carefully blank, scrubbed clean of anything that might betray whatever was going on behind his bright eyes.

They were ying and yang, ebony and ivory, mirror opposites. Yet Rinoa drew together similarities: they were poised and confident, albeit in different ways, and they commanded presence. They were fighters. And if this wasn't evident by their muscles and battle scars, then it could hardly be overlooked by their attire. They wore armour of similar cut; a mishmash of leather and iron, light and durable but resilient, by the looks of it (not that Rinoa knew squat about armour). The metal work was crossed with incisions, obviously used. There were emblems painted onto their breastplates; Rinoa wondered why they were different, and why they looked so familiar.

The pair of them looked like actors stepped out of one of the old black and white movies, leaving Rinoa decidedly ill at ease. Like she was going crazy.

"Who are you?"

Seifer's expression became incredulous, thickly underlined with scorn. "Who are _we_?"

"You know the answer to that," Squall deadpanned.

"No, I –"

"Who are _you_?" Seifer shot the question at her like an accusation.

"I… I'm just…" Rinoa hesitated. "I'm just a student! I'm not… who you think I am."

Seifer's eyes clouded over. "No. You're not. Nowhere near."

Squall's eyes glinted with annoyance for a moment, flitting to Seifer then back to Rinoa. He waved a hand, almost a cutting gesture. Impatience, maybe? He was difficult to read. "Things aren't fitting together. We're not… meant to be here. With you. This – " He waved to the window " – is not our time."

"And it's not your apartment, either," Rinoa pointed out testily. "How did you get in here anyway? Did you pick the lock?"

Seifer scoffed. Squall said, "We go wherever you go, deysi."

Rinoa flapped her hands. "Stop calling me that! I'm not your – your day-see, or whatever. You're lucky I haven't called the police!"

Speaking of which, why _hadn't_ she called the police? Other than the immediate threat of one of these psychos cutting her down with their antique swords, something else gave her pause. She could feel the ice in her belly still, hear strange words inside her head, and in her mind she glimpsed again her eyes turned golden. She smelt the musty rot inside the coffin, felt the flies crawling on her skin. But for the first time the pounding in her skull had stilled.

"Who are you?" she said again.

Seifer's face twisted into a mask of disdain which he wore with practiced ease. "We're your Knights."

Rinoa stared at him. "Is that some of kind of cheesy chat up line?"

Squall said, "He's telling the truth. For once."

"Then why are you following me around?"

"You are our deysi," Squall said.

Seifer jabbed a finger at her. "You're our Sorceress."

Rinoa looked from one to the other. "You're both crazy." Slowly, she stood up and tried not to let her fear show. She had the distinct impression that if she showed any signs of weakness they would pounce on her, like alligators dragging down a limping gazelle. "Get out. Both of you. Get out of my apartment."

Seifer's smirk grew. "Or what? You gonna make us? You gonna kick us out?"

Rinoa fluffed up like an irked hen. "Just leave me alone!"

"Deysi," Squall said. "We can't leave."

Rinoa stomped over to the front door, yanked it open then waved at the corridor outside. "Yes you can! Here, I'll show you out." She stepped stiffly across the threshold and into the corridor. "See?"

Seifer and Squall exchanged frosty looks.

"We're your Knights," Squall explained, slowly, as though he was talking to a child. "We can't just leave. You won't let us leave. Or at least, _she_ wouldn't. She enslaved us."

"Bonded us," Seifer corrected sharply. "Our souls to hers, forever until death."

Rinoa shifted her weight. "Even if you're not crazy people and this is all true, what's this got to do with me?"  
Again, they exchanged a look.

"We don't know," Squall admitted. "That's why we're here. You opened the coffin, yes? Izamel's resting place?"

Rinoa gripped her arms, feeling a chill fall over her skin. "Yes."

Squall looked at Seifer. "What do you think?"

"It's the only explanation."

"What? What is?" Rinoa said, looking between the two.

Squall straightened against the breakfast bar, peering at her closely for what felt like the first time. The intensity of his gaze made her uneasy, like if she looked at him too long she would burn away, like a feather singed against a flame.

"Izamel was…" He hesitated. "Greedy."

"_Ambitious_," Seifer rectified.

"She wanted everything for herself and when she met her end, she refused to let go of her powers. It's not… impossible that they might have remained dormant inside of her corpse, and then when you opened the coffin, the one she placed under a protective spell to keep the magic sealed inside, her powers were transferred to you and… us along with them." He looked decidedly disgruntled by this idea. Seifer just stared at her, though his eyes had taken on a vacant sheen, like his thoughts were far away.

Rinoa bent her toes against the cool laminate flooring and heard them click. Her thoughts were hot sparks inside her mind, one alternately flickering brighter than the other so she barely had time to focus on one before another snatched her attention.

"Are you saying," she said slowly, "that I'm a sorceress now?"

"Perhaps the most rookie sorceress I've ever clapped eyes on," Seifer said. "But yeah. I guess you are."

Squall frowned at her. "Can't you feel it?"

Rinoa looked at her hands for answers. "I, ah… I don't know. I've been feeling… weird. Different. I thought I was sick." She shook her head. "No, I must be sick. There's no way…"

Or was there? Everybody knew that sorceresses had existed. The last sorceress recorded in history had been named Amyra, and she had lived only thirty years ago. They kept inexplicably popping up because, apparently, sorceresses were recyclable. For them to rest in peace, they first had to transfer their power to another source – another person. Could that have happened to Rinoa? Had Izamel's tomb really contained her old magic?

It just seemed so unlikely. Surely Rinoa's luck couldn't be that bad?

And then there were these guys to consider…

"But if that really was Izamel's grave, then how are you both still alive?" They definitely didn't look six-hundred. More like late teens or early twenties. "Are you immortal?"

"I told you," Squall said. "Izamel bound us so we could never leave her, not until she died. But… something went wrong. She didn't bind us to herself, but to her magic, which she never intended to pass on. So she suspended us in time, an eternal sleep, and we would've stayed that way if you hadn't…" He scowled.

"You're annoyed that I woke you?"

"No fuckin' way," Seifer answered. "Asleep forever? That's not an honourable way for a Knight to go. Plus it was boring as sin. Do you know what it's like bein' stuck with Mr Personality here for six hundred years?"

Squall glared at him. "We didn't even interact."

"Exactly!" Seifer exclaimed. He pointed at Rinoa. "You might not be Izamel, might not be our true Sorceress, but you're still a sorceress, and that's good enough for me."

"But I don't want to be a sorceress! And I don't want Knights!" Rinoa complained. "You can't stay here, either. I mean, if what you say is true and you're not both crazy, then go – shoo – be free!" She waved her hands around her head like she could make them disappear in a poof of smoke. "That's what you want, isn't it? To be free?"

This shunted them into silence and for the first time they seemed at a loss, though perhaps for different reasons. At length, Squall said, "It's not that simple."

"Sure it is!" Rinoa gestured at the open door. "You just put one foot in front of the other, repeat indefinitely until you're out of my apartment, and then you just… do whatever – whatever Knights do when they're not doing… Knight stuff."

Seifer frowned. "But we –"

"Okay then, I'm _ordering_ you," Rinoa pressed impatiently. "As your Sorceress I order you to leave. How's that? Will that work?"

"Deysi." Squall's voice was hard and his expression wrought from stone. Those unnatural eyes bore into hers. No room for jokes. "It is not that simple. Izamel bound us to her power – forever. Even when you die, we'll be forced to follow the trail of her power, never knowing rest or freedom. We don't want to serve you, we're _forced_ to serve you. And if we don't, if we try to stop, we will become…" He hesitated. For the first time a flicker of uncertainty showed through a crack in his blank mask. "We'll become vacant. Our independency will be removed and… we'll be drones. It was the only punishment she could think that would instil obedience into us."

Condemned to live a life of servitude either way, but at least they had their minds intact if they remained obedient. Without it, what were they? Bipedal monsters? Lapdogs? Rinoa mentally rifled through her history notes but could not recall a time when a sorceress had enslaved her own Knight.

"So you didn't want to be Knights at all? I thought Knights had to pledge themselves to a sorceress. Willingly."

Squall looked sideways. Seifer met her gaze with a snort and a smirk. Both of them entirely unreadable, in their own ways; neither of them provided answers.

Rinoa pinched the bridge of her nose. What the hells was she supposed to do? Maybe this was a hallucination caused by her illness. Maybe they were ghosts she'd angered in Izamel's tomb. Maybe they really were Knights and she was the new Sorceress. Or maybe the stress of having not yet written her dissertation had finally driven her mad.

"Alright," she said. "Look. I don't get what's going on here, so I'm going to go and talk to someone who knows about… this kind of… stuff." _Sort of._ "Don't go anywhere. And you can damn well fix my bathroom door while I'm gone!"

* * *

After she'd changed into something more socially appropriate than a fuzzy pink towel, Rinoa went on the hunt for the only person she could think of who knew about weird sorceress stuff: Cid. She headed for the University, but was told he was at Timber's Museum of Natural History. She walked the three miles to the city's tourist hub, where the museum (quaint by Deling standards, extravagant by Timber's) rose elegantly from the sprawl of surrounding cafés and giftshops in a whorl of mid-Vranian inspired architecture; its sandy columns and flat roof was a sad mimic of an emperor's palace.

Rinoa hesitated at the bottom of a sweeping flight of stairs that led to the museum's entrance. Truth was, she was a little afraid about confronting Cid. If she told him about Seifer and Squall and the weird sickness then she would have to admit to opening the coffin. He knew she'd been frightened in that tomb, but she hadn't told him - or anyone – the full story. She just said she'd been spooked by shadows. Besides, she didn't want Cid to think she was crazy. Because she sure as hells felt like it and didn't really want to hear it out loud.

Rinoa showed her student pass to the clerk behind the front desk inside the museum, and the man's eyes lit up.

"You're the one who found Izamel's tomb, yes?"

Rinoa shrugged and smiled thinly. "I guess."

"That amazing," he said. "That's just amazing. Such a find."

Rinoa shifted from foot to foot. "Is Mr Kramer here?"

"He is." The man nodded solemnly. "He's been studying the coffin. Such a find. Just amazing."

Rinoa wished she was as much of a history nut as this guy. Maybe then she wouldn't feel such a sense of foreboding as he lead her through a door labelled 'STAFF ONLY'. They weaved their way through a labyrinth of archives and storage rooms, until they found Cid and a small entourage of conservationists, historians and archaeologists in a room barren of any furniture save for the coffin, which was elevated on a table, set aglow by a single warm spotlight. The men and women were gathered around it, as if in mourning.

Cid's face lit up when he saw Rinoa, and for an odd moment she thought he was going to embrace her, like a proud father. "I knew you'd come," he said with a titter. "You're practically famous now! In the world of archaeology, anyway. Our sponsor in Esthar is ecstatic by our find, absolutely ecstatic, and has agreed to fund the dig for another six weeks! Come, come, you must have a closer look now that it's out in broad daylight!"

Rinoa found herself rooted to the spot. The coffin sat there, waiting patiently, only now she felt it harboured some hostility towards her. _You opened me, you took my power, and now I want it back._

"Uh, no that's okay. I wanted to –"

"No, no, you absolutely must," Cid said, his eyes sparkling with gusto. "We weren't sure it was Izamel's tomb at first, but the writing on the walls and the tomb are unmistakably Iklatek – the language of the sorceresses. We're flying in a translator from Deling, a man who studies ancient languages. I know a few words myself, actually," he added with a confiding chuckle. Suddenly his hand was on her back and he was steering her towards the coffin. She couldn't retreat without making a spectacle of herself, so she reluctantly edged closer and peered down at the stone lid.

The scripture across the coffin had changed. How was that possible? It was carved from stone –

No.

Grim realisation dawned on Rinoa. The colour drained from her face like she'd been stuck with a pin. The scripture hadn't changed. She had. She could read it. Her eyes swept over the words that not three days ago had been completely alien to her. Now they were as familiar as the Standard she'd heard and spoken since birth. The words leapt out at her and, helplessly, she began to read.

_Here waits the Great Unifier, Daughter of Hyne, Herald of War and Sovereign of the Old Magicks. She who Bends the Earth and all things on the Earth, the Hand that steers and reaps the Mortal Flesh. Here her Soul doth Sleep, here She doth not Die, only moves on the Great Wheel of Hyne's Reckoning, Above all things. She will Reap and Sow until the Land is Bare of Weakness, and from its Dregs she will Grow Great and Terrible –_

Rinoa stopped reading. Her body was trembling and her veins were pulsing with those delicious hot-cold sparks. Her eyes instead were drawn to two emblems chiselled either side of the introductory text at the head of the tomb. The emblems were very familiar; she'd seen them not an hour ago. Beneath one read 'The Lion', beneath the other read 'The Eagle.' And written beneath both emblems: _Mine Forever, Bound Together._

"What are these?" Rinoa cut across Cid's rambling. "What do these symbols represent?"

"Oh – ah, yes." Cid's eyes lit up. "These represent her two Knights. You see their emblems in a lot of history books regarding Izamel. We just … Are you alright, child? You look quite pale. There's no chairs in here I'm afraid, you'll have to sit on the floor – it is rather hot, isn't it? So crowded."

"No, I'm fine." Rinoa waved him away. "I just… I'm just… hungover."

Cid's furrowed brow relaxed a little. "Oh. Heheheh, you kids. Anyway, we're just waiting for –"

"What happened to them? Her Knights, I mean."

"Oh." Cid frowned. "Well, that depends on who you ask, I suppose. The reports are conflicting, which is understandable considering they lived six hundred years ago and Deling had a mass book burning of anything relating to the alternate states during the 17th Century Witch Hunts… But I digress." He pushed his thick spectacles up on his nose. "Some say they were buried alive with the sorceress after she died. Others say they were killed during her last battle on Serengetti Plains. Others say they killed each other."

"Did you find their skeletons?"

"No, not in the tomb. It's unlikely they were buried in adjacent chambers, but not impossible, hence why the excavation must continue."

Rinoa stared at the coffin. Reading the text gave her headache, so instead she focussed on the emblems. "What… what did you find inside of it?"

"We haven't opened it, of course," Cid said with a note of disapproval. "It'll need to be exhumed; we can't risk having the body turn to dust, can we?"

Rinoa thought of the cloud of darkness that had launched at her and shuddered. "I… I'd like to learn more about Izamel and her Knights. Do you have any books I can borrow?"

"I'm afraid I'll be needing all of mine so we can attain as much information about the coffin before it's exported to Esthar. But I'm sure the library has some. I'd get there quick if I were you! The student body is suddenly fascinated by the sorceress."

"Not as fascinated as I am," Rinoa mumbled flatly.

Cid patted her on the back. "This would make a great dissertation topic. And just think, your name might be written in one of those books one day!"

Rinoa threw him a wild stare. "But I'm not a sorceress!"

Cid blinked at her, then chuckled. "Ah, hehehe, that's funny. I meant as the archaeologist who discovered Izamel's tomb. I'm sure you'll be mentioned in the updated editions of sorceress history!"

"Oh. Right." Rinoa bit her lip. _At least I hope that's what I'll be mentioned for…_

* * *

Frustratingly, Cid had been right. The library had been thoroughly looted of all texts regarding the Sorceress Izamel and her Knights. She had to make do with a speculative account of warfare history during the Tensin Era, which, Rinoa realised with a sinking heart, primarily covered the military strategies of General Tai-cho, who had opposed the Sorceress. Still, it was better than nothing.

She found a secluded area in the corner of the Fiction section and settled into a tub chair. She used the contents of the book to flick to what she thought was the most relevant era, and grudgingly began to skim read battle formations that the author had deduced via the findings of skeletons across a likely battlefield on the Serengetti Plains. As she read, her mind wandered uneasily.

Was she reading this book because she believed what Squall and Seifer had said? To even consider their claim seemed to invite madness. But was it impossible? She knew that a sorceress and her Knight had to bond on a magical level; there was certainly a spell involved at least. Knights of recent years confirmed as much: they were only free once their sorceress died. But every Knight she'd known about had been willing to pledge their lives. Rinoa was positive the spell couldn't be made without the Knight's consent –

Wait. How did she even know that? She tried to recall where she'd read or heard it… But couldn't. The knowledge was there. Inside of her. As clear as her own name. It had an unnatural flavour to it, notably different to all her other stored knowledge – her memories – because it was almost unconscious, ingrained in her being. It felt the same as when she'd read that Iklatek.

_Okay, okay, don't freak out. That doesn't mean you're a sorceress. It could be anything! Maybe I heard it on a documentary or something…_

That didn't feel right, but it couldn't be the other possibility. She refused to acknowledge that.

The hot-cold sparks in her veins pulsed in gleeful disagreement. She lifted a hand to her forehead. Was she getting a temperature? She really should go to the doctor.

Rinoa returned her attention fully to the text unfolded in her lap. The waffling tendencies of the author made it difficult to follow, but it seemed this chapter might be relevant.

'While we generally accept that the clans were at war long before the Sorceress made her move in politics, it is still largely unknown what caused the two biggest clans – the Ahren Clan and the Lencho Clan – to turn so viciously against one another. They could not avoid the war, that much was certain, though they generally allied together with the emperor rather than the rebel factions dedicated to overthrowing him. Interestingly, it was only after the Sorceress arrived that the clans not only turned on each other, but eventually combined their forces to fight against the emperor too.

Something important to note is that it was immediately after Izamel claimed her first Knight that the Ahrens separated from the Lencho's, which leads me to speculate that the event that ultimately spelled the end for the emperor's rein is directly linked with who, when, why and how Izamel selected her Knights.

The loss of the Ahren Clan meant the emperor's army was noticeably crippled, though he was not left entirely weakened as the Lencho Clan remained loyal to him.'

Here Rinoa skipped ahead a few pages that outlined the defining battle tactics of the Dyani clan.

'It is well known that Izamel took on two Knights. Afterall, she is one of few in the history of all sorceresses. Though it is my belief that she took her second sometime after her first as a means of strengthening her political and military standing, which certainly worked, as the combined forces of the clans overthrew what remained of the emperor's forces.

The motives of the Knights remain unclear, especially of the second, who had been scrupulously loyal until the second year of the war. Interestingly, one poem from that age implies that the Knights were boyhood friends who trained under the same general, though certainly this author cannot hope to find too much truth in the romanticism of poetry.'

The text descended into yet more speculation of battle dates and their outcomes, and Rinoa closed the book with a muffled thwack. She went to the front desk and put her name on the waiting list for every book that focussed on the historical figures during the Ten'sin era, when they were eventually returned. Until then, she would have to focus on what little information she had.

Rinoa left the library and blinked into the bright afternoon sun. A Galbadian jet zoomed overhead, briefly obscured by the burning dot in the too-blue sky, winking out of existence, then back again. She felt the familiar twang of anger at seeing it. It was monitoring Galbadian air territory, swiftly suppressing any rebel attempts made by air. Her blood seemed to pound loudly in her head, sparking and hot-cold, and for an odd moment she thought she heard a rush of Iklatek in the back of her mind. She leaned heavily against a street lamp, the pavement swimming beneath her feet.

_What is happening to me?_

The air rippled in front of her eyes, black and white lights flashing alternatively. Next to her, a man and woman exclaimed and pointed to the sky. She thought she heard the whistle of something metallic, then a distant explosion.

She left her body, but when she fell it wasn't the pavement that caught her but two strong arms. She was hefted easily off the ground and she heard the loud clunks of armoured feet walking her into the shade of the library.

"It's so hot," she moaned, the words coming thick and stupid through her numb lips. She eased her eyes open and saw Seifer staring down at her. His expression wasn't worried, just somewhat impatient.

"You can't do anything right," he said. "I'm takin' you back to your home. Seems you don't really get what's happening here."

_You can say that again_, she thought wryly, but didn't have the strength to voice the sentiment. Instead, she just let him carry her home.

* * *

It was a long walk back and by the time they were a few blocks away Rinoa was conscious enough to note the strange looks of passers-by. They must have looked a pair, she realised; Seifer, with his strange, battered armour and his inherent air of hauteur, and she in his arms like some withered damsel.

She could shrug off the lingering stares of the Timberians, but she couldn't ignore the attention drawn from the Galbadian soldiers. She noticed that Seifer reflexively stiffened under their surveillance. He couldn't have known who they were or what they represented, but somehow he recognised them as soldiers and his instincts seemed more keyed towards fight than flight. She couldn't let that happen. If they really were Knights or whatever, then no good would come from the authorities finding out. The government wasn't particularly closed off to sorceresses; they hadn't held a position of political power for many generations, and the last who had been of any note were mere figureheads. But the world generally held sorceresses in cold regard fringed with superstitions that should have died with modern civilisation. Rinoa couldn't blame them. Sorceresses were famous because they'd committed mass genocides or burned entire civilisations to the ground or became cruel dictators – or all three.

What if I am a sorceress? Rinoa thought with a new, tangy, bright bite of fear. Will they murder me? Fear me? Imprison me?

Though her vision was still impaired by dizziness, she stared up at Seifer as he carried her in his arms. He hadn't even broken a sweat, despite walking three miles in full armour carrying a one-hundred and sixteen pound baggage.

He glanced down at her. He had an almost saintly appearance, haloed as he was by the setting sun that cast his skin in gold and turned his eyes to pockets of light. For the first time she noticed a silver scar trailing over the bridge of his nose and up his forehead. Hadn't she seen a mirror of that scar on Squall?

"Can't take your eyes off me, eh?" he said.

She glared at him narrowly. "Why are you doing this for me?"

"What?"

"Carrying me home."

He broke eye contact to stare ahead, gaze picking at the road signs. She was amazed he'd managed to find the way back so easily in a foreign landscape. Too easily. She thought she should consider that more, but everything was all swimmy and it hurt her brain.

"Well, you can't look after yourself, clearly," he replied tartly.

She simmered, rising to his taunt despite herself. "I would've been fine. You didn't have to carry me anyway, we could've gotten a taxi."

"A what?"

"…Nevermind. Just – just put me down. I can walk."

Seifer cast her a sceptical look, until she batted his chest plate with her palm, and he carefully lowered her onto the sidewalk.

"We're drawing too much attention, anyway," she said as she leaned heavily against the brick wall of a convenience store. "Or at least you are, in all that armour. You even bought your sword."

"At least I don't look like I've been drinkin' all day," he retorted, spreading his arms in a challenging yet somehow careless gesture. "I s'pose watchin' you stagger home would be good for a laugh."

"Oh, shut up," she muttered. She took a wobbly step forward, feeling the comforting scratch of brick under her left hand. "It's not that much further; I can make it."

Her stomach took a violent pitch up towards her lungs. Her vision blurred and her legs turned to jelly. Something wet was on her face and when she lifted her fingers to her lip she realised with numb horror that her nose was bleeding.

"Wha –" Hot panic flushed to the surface of her thoughts. Yes, hot. Hot was the word. The heat spread through her chest and neck, head and arms, out through her hands and fingers, and –

The brick wall caught fire. How brick could catch alight like dried kindling was beyond Rinoa, but catch alight it did. The flames flickered to life from nowhere, hungrily devouring one brick at a time with flames that looked too translucent, smokeless and tinged blue. Rinoa reared back in shock, then tried to pat them out with her bare hands. They were oddly cool against her skin, and her patting only worked to make the fire spread.

"Oh – oh no," she stuttered helplessly. "Did – did I do…? I didn't do that, did I? Oh my gods, the wall is on fire. Why is the wall on _fire_?"

The flames grew with her panic, rapidly climbing up the brickwork like some kind of malevolent ivy. The world was spinning and blood was gushing out of her nose. She fell backwards but Seifer caught her again and swept her up in one fluid movement.

"We gotta go," he said simply.

"Buh-but the wall!"

"That's nothin'. It'll die out."

"But –"

"Soldiers are comin'. Don't worry about the fire. Like I said: it'll die out."

She tried to peer around his arm to see, to make sure that the whole of bloody Timber wasn't on fire, but she only heard alarmed shouts. By the time they rounded the final corner towards her apartment there was the blare of sirens.

_I did that. Did I do that? How could I? I couldn't have. Could I?_

Seifer glanced down at her. "Don't think too much. Don't think about it."

_About what? How I just set a house on fire with my thoughts. Oh gods, what if someone's inside?_

"I'll go back to check later," he said, as though he'd read her mind. "Just keep your thoughts clear, right?"

Rinoa's head pounded and the world swam. She felt hot blood drip from her chin onto her shirt. Fear clawed up her throat, threatening to derail her rationality in an explosion of white-hot glass. She just clung to Seifer, praying she was wrong somehow and this was just some mean frat trick.

_I can't be a sorceress. I can't be._


	4. The Noise of Thunder

There's some inconsistencies in my capitalisation of the words 'sorceress' and 'knight'. I've been confused about it, but have decided to write them using the same rules as addressing royalty, which I'm pretty shoddy at too. I can't actually remember how they were used in-game, so I'm just gonna do my best. And thanks again for the reviews! Hope you're enjoying it.

* * *

**Chapter Three**  
_The Noise of Thunder_

Rinoa managed to make it to her apartment without incident, bar the humiliation of Seifer carrying her up three flights of stairs, but when she pushed open the front door she was hard pressed to believe the apartment was hers. The table was overturned, the fridge had toppled onto its front, glasses and plates were smashed, cupboard doors had been torn off and all that was left of her expensive Martha May cushion set was tufts of stuffing and shredded fabric.

"Uhh," was all she could say.

Squall was knelt on the floor in the middle of this disaster zone, his hands resting on his knees, as placid as a heron by a pond. He regarded her coolly and offered no explanation.

"I thought I told you to clean this up before I got back," Seifer said.

Squall raised a challenging eyebrow. "I'm not a maid, and I certainly don't take orders from you. Also, it was you that did this in the first place."

Rinoa took a few cautious steps into her trashed apartment, her mouth agape. "Wait. What. I don't… You did this? Both of you?"

The pair exchanged furious glares, then both began babbling over one another, an explanation tangled between the two of them, until Squall fell into brooding silence, refusing to meet Rinoa's eye.

"He started it," Seifer declared by way of explanation. "I wanted to go after you but he said we should stick to your orders and wait. I wasn't about to –"

"And then you – what? – trashed my entire apartment?" She waved her arms around. "Look at this! There's food smooshed in the carpet and you – you broke my mirror! And why – _why_ is there nail varnish on the _ceiling_?"

The scolded pair stared dejectedly at the pink splash above their heads. Rinoa suddenly noted that the both of them were, in actual fact, bleeding. And bruised. Seifer had a nasty blue-green splodge on his cheekbone and Squall's lip was busted open.

"You fought?" Rinoa said incredulously. "Why? Was it… over me?"

"Over your orders," Squall corrected sharply. He gestured at Seifer. "He has problems with authority."

"Authority? Whose authority? I wasn't gonna let her walk around in her condition –"

"She's fine," Squall said, glowering.

"Oh yeah? Well, guess what? She set a wall on fire just now. How's that for fine?"

Squall looked at Rinoa, expression carefully neutral. "Is that true?"

Rinoa looked away. Her vision was still swimming and the hot-cold sparks still pulsed in her veins. She massaged her throbbing temple with her fingers. "Yeah… I guess. I don't know."

Squall stood up. "You can't resist it, deysi. Her power – no, _your_ power. It's a part of you now. It's yours. If you continue to resist it, it will destroy you." He hesitated. "And… maybe everyone around you. You must learn to control it –"

"No!" she snapped. "I don't want this! I didn't ask for this! Whatever _this_ is. There has to be some rational explanation!"

"There isn't," Squall said.

"You are the new sorceress." Seifer shrugged theatrically. "That's how it is now, so you better start gettin' used to it. It ain't gonna go away anytime soon. You're stuck with your power and we're stuck with you."

Rinoa felt her lip begin to tremble. "But I… I don't want to be a sorceress. I wuh-wanted to be a po-politician. To fight f-for Timber's liberation…"

Squall took an unnerved step back at the sign of imminent waterworks and threw an alarmed look at Seifer, but Seifer seemed far more interested in the mention of a fight.

"There's a war in this time too? Then what are ya complainin' for? Now you're a sorceress you can win. People'll fall over themselves to have you on their side."

Rinoa thought of the sorceresses through history: the tyrants, the usurpers, the murderers. Why were they never rendered as good and moral? They were always outcasts, their actions thoroughly evil, the remnants of their rule shambolic. Had they ever aligned themselves with a separate political force? She certainly couldn't remember one. They'd fought for themselves, for their own gain, for their own pursuit of power.

_That's not me. _

Rinoa looked at her trembling hands. They seemed pale, threaded with gold, the tips of her nails crescents of pearl. Was she changing? Was she really a sorceress? Who could she confide in? Surely there were no doctors who could help, and no other sorceresses to turn to for advice. Not in this time, anyway.

She felt cripplingly alone in her plight.

She looked up at the two men in front of her. Possibly the only two people in the world who might help her rather than fear or incriminate her.

"I don't who you both are," she whispered. "But if I… if I really am a sorceress… Will you help me?"

"We are sworn to do so," Squall said simply.

And for some reason she knew it to be true, deep in her bones. They were irrevocably connected in ways she couldn't fully comprehend yet, their bonds steeped in some dark magic she'd only read of in books. But she felt it: they would follow her to the grave if she commanded it so.

Rinoa let her hands fall limply by her sides. The skittering burrs under skin became still for a moment and she suddenly felt very tired.

"You should rest," Squall suggested, placing a hand on his hip. "The powers are still settling in your mind and body. If you put too much strain on yourself the magic might consume you."

"Consume me…?" she repeated timidly.

"Don't listen' to him." Seifer guided her towards the bedroom with a hand on her back. "Go lay down. And don't come out until you've stopped cryin', 'cause I can't deal with that kid stuff."

Rinoa stiffened. She wasn't weak. Why didn't they understand? It was just too much to take in. "Don't talk to me like that! If I want to cry then I'll cry." She rounded on him, keeping him out of her room by shoving him on the chest. She gripped her bedroom door (her room had been spared destruction either by miracle or some shred of respect on the part of the two knights) and edged it partially closed. She glared through the gap. "When I come out we're going to have a talk about where you two are going to stay. In the meantime, I want this cleared up. I want my apartment back to how it was: spotless." She closed the door, then after a second opened it again. "And no more fighting!" Then she slammed it shut.

* * *

It was some time before Rinoa fell asleep. She lay in bed listening to the apologetic sounds of cleaning beyond her door. Her mind was a hive of activity, thoughts swarming her, stinging her one by one until she thought she might go mad from it: the fear of her sickness (powers?), infuriatingly sparse recollections of past sorceresses, the terror of planning what in seven hells she was going to do if she really was a sorceress. Was her dissertation even relevant? Was anything in her current life relevant anymore? Would she have to leave the old Rinoa behind and embark on a journey into the harsh unknown as Sorceress Rinoa? It was a terrifying prospect. Suddenly the burden of finishing her dissertation seemed like a child's daydream compared to being a sorceress.

_I don't want this._

The thought was her final one before she drifted into a disturbed sleep.

It seemed that she'd only just shut her eyes when the dream came to her, as vivid and tangible as memories of yesterday. She dreamed of rolling plains and rice paddies, of men and women stooped barefooted in the wet turf tugging at green stalks. Wide brimmed, woven hats cast their faces into crisscrossed shadow. She felt the humidity with startling clarity; felt a bead of sweat roll down her back. Across the field was a settlement, alien to Rinoa's memories, yet familiar to dream-Rinoa's memories: a ring of squat houses with roofs of straw and mud-packed walls. A settlement of peasants. Of worthless mortals –

Rinoa jerked in her dream. She blinked, and the village was aflame. The heat was pleasant against her face, in contrast to the chill night air; the mud-and-straw huts burned nicely. The flames reached flickering tips to the purple moon, burning so fiercely they almost obscured the screams, the screeching of a burning cat, the piercing shriek of a baby. Almost.

She turned her attention to the entrance of the settlement and saw a lone figure, a black cut-out against the burning night. A sword was hefted on one shoulder.

She opened her eyes; she was awake. It was so abrupt that when she blinked the light of the fire still burned behind her lids. Had she been asleep? Of course she had… It just felt so strange. Not like a dream at all.

Rinoa sat up. Her bedsheets were a snarl around her waist, glowing in the moonlight that poured in through her window, and her bedroom carpet was striped in red and blue light from the neon sign of a pharmacy on the opposite side of the street. She wrapped her arms around herself and sluggishly acknowledged that she was scared. When was the last time she'd been scared by a nightmare? Her heart pounded and her face was flushed and sweaty, just like it had been when she'd burnt that village to the ground –

She shook herself in alarm. _No! I didn't do that! It was just a dream…_

A shadowy nook by her wardrobe shifted and she gasped in terror, yanking the covers over her chest like some flimsy shield.

Squall stepped out of the darkness. Red and blue neon light was a flashing strip across his face, highlighting the unnatural pallor of his eyes. Rinoa noted with concern that they seemed to be glowing slightly. Was that magic?

"What are you doing in here?" Rinoa whispered. "Why are you watching me sleep? That's so creepy!"

Squall looked momentarily taken aback. "I… No, I wasn't." He composed himself, expression settling back to its natural state of apathy. "I knocked. Quite a few times. I thought something might have happened to you."

Rinoa's expression softened slightly. "You were worried about me?"

"No," he clarified. "I knew you were alive but I wondered if your powers had shunted you into a coma."

Rinoa's blood turned cold. "And what if it had?"

Squall shrugged. His only answer. No reassurance.

Rinoa let her sheet fall back around her waist. She wondered if she should have been embarrassed by her Hi Cute Kitty-Cat! pajamas (afterall, Squall was probably one of the cutest guys she'd seen in a long time) but found she didn't have energy to care what he thought about her right now.

"What do you want?"

"One of the reasons I thought you might have slipped into a coma," he said, "is because of that." He pointed outside.

Rinoa's gaze trailed to the window, frightened, and she half expected to see Timber doused in unnatural flame. But the world outside looked normal enough. The sky were obscured behind thick rain clouds; a dark abyss above the comforting halo of city light. It must have been the peculiar twilight time between bar and club after-hours, when all the students had returned home, and before first light, when the commuters would be rising, for the streets were utterly empty.

"The rain, deysi," Squall indicated impatiently.

"What rain? It's not –"

But it was raining. Sort of.

The air was full of tiny droplets, all suspended and motionless, like dew trembling on a vast cobweb. She stared at the ones closest to her window. They shivered gently, pulsating with a rhythmic beat that grew faster and faster as she tried to process what was happening. Were they… beating in time with her heart?

Entranced, Rinoa leaned towards the window and her breath fogged up the cold glass. "Squall, am I –" Then when she touched the pane with the palm of her hand to wipe away the fog, the rain shuddered and dropped. There must have been a build-up of water somewhere above the roof line, because it came down in a great torrent and hit the streets with a thunderous crash. Rinoa shrieked. Up the road a dog started barking and a car alarm went off.

Then, like nothing had happened, it resumed to rain as normal.

"What's happening?" Rinoa whispered.

"This is why you need to start learning how to control your powers." Squall had crept closer without her noticing and now he leaned against the wall beside the window, staring at the rain with his arms crossed. "You did this while you slept."

"But… what is 'this' exactly? What happened?"

"You suspended time. Albeit briefly and with little consequence. But still, time magic isn't something you want to set loose without control. Things could get… messy."

Rinoa traced her fingers across the window, drawing a snail trail in the fogged up glass. "I… stopped the rain from falling?"

Squall paused. "I never saw Izamel do that… Perhaps elemental control comes naturally to you. The time control is…" He shrugged. "Normal."

"Natural? Normal?" Rinoa repeated incredulously. "Nothing about this is natural or normal! I can't… I can't deal with this!"

"Well, you have to," Squall said, his voice a strange concoction of soft and firm.

"No, there must be another way!" She stared at her hands. "Can't I… Can't I get rid of them? Give them to someone else, someone who wants them?"

Squall's expression was steeped in shadow, his eyes glowing faintly like a spectre in a horror movie. "Your powers cannot be forced onto someone else, only temporary loaned by means of possession."

"Possession? I… I couldn't do that to someone!"

"Then your only other option is death."

"What… What do you mean?"

"They're a part of you now. Forever. Forever until death, when your powers will be relinquished to someone else."

"But I… Don't I get a say? These powers were forced on me. Now I have to change… I have to change _everything_. I didn't ask for this…"

"No one does," Squall said.

The sadness in his tone made her look up, but he was staring out the window, his expression bland. "Did you want this, Squall? Did you want to be a knight?"

Squall glanced at her, then straightened. "What I want or wanted doesn't matter."

As he went to walk away she reached out on impulse and gripped the hem of his sleeve. He glanced at her hand in annoyance, but thought better of shrugging her off. She briefly wondered if they could even harm her. "Squall, it does matter what you want. You're still a person – you and Seifer. Answer me: did you want to be a knight?"

He glared at her. "If I didn't want to be a knight then I wouldn't be here." He jerked out of her grip. "Get some sleep. I'll be outside the door if you need anything."

Rinoa watched him leave, watched as the door shut quietly behind him. She arched her legs and hugged them into her, and stared out the window at the dark streets. The rain streaked down the glass, pattering against the pane. She was gripped by the fleeting urge to throw it open and feel the wet against her skin; something normal, something that reminded her she was still a person, still Rinoa.

_No use running anymore,_ she thought._ Whatever is happening is happening, and I have to deal with it before things get even crazier…_

* * *

As it happened, Seifer and Squall wore simple long sleeved robes and wide legged pants under their armour, which would be just about passable as 'normal' in broad daylight. Rinoa knew that Estharian dignitaries sometimes wore these style robes, though more as a fashion statement or sign of office. Rinoa wondered if the scattering of villages under Esthar's rule had been founded by pre-Centran immigrants, and the fashion had been maintained by means of tradition. Seifer and Squall's robes certainly weren't far off the kind she'd seen officials wear when they made political visits to Galbadia. Although, the knights' robes lacked the unsightly flare of Estharian design, which had warped the robes' simplicity with towering hats, mismatched patterns and gemstones. Ick.

Rinoa demanded that they wash first, both their bodies and their clothes, before she let them loose on the public. She had to show them how to use the shower, then banished them to separate rooms to strip so she could do the laundry. She received a funny look from Mrs Roberts, the nice old lady who occupied the apartment on the ground floor, when she bundled the torn and bloodstained robes into the machine in the laundry room. Luckily, Mrs Roberts was too polite to ask any questions. She just raised her eyebrows and offered Rinoa a wary smile.

Rinoa perched on a plastic chair in the pokey wash room and flicked through a gossip magazine while she waited for the laundry to be done. It would take over an hour but she wanted to give the men ample time in case she accidentally walked in on them in the nude. Not that it would be terrible sight but… it was already weird enough having two strange men squatting in her apartment, and she had no desire to get to know them on an intimate level. She just prayed they wouldn't break anything while she was gone.

_Like two untrained puppies,_ she thought dryly.

She flicked the magazine closed with an inpatient sigh. But gods, she was tired. She hadn't been able to go back sleep the night previous, probably because she'd managed to _stop the rain from falling_. Just thinking about it was a source of fear – would thinking cause it to happen? She didn't know. She didn't understand.

_What if I'm becoming dangerous?_

She'd made up her mind. She was going to have to talk to Cid. She realised a large part of her had been hoping everything – powers, nightmares, knights, sorceresses, _everything_ – would simply go away, like a bad hangover. Except she couldn't sleep this off. She had a sinking feeling that Squall was right: this weirdness was going to be a part of her life for a long time. And if that was the case, it would have to come out, sooner or later. Maybe Cid would have some miraculous cure. Or answers. Answers would be great.

Squall and Seifer probably had answers, but they were part of the question too. She needed to speak to an outside source. She just hoped she wouldn't get carted away to a mental institution because of it.

The dryer beeped and she loaded the clean robes into her basket and went back upstairs. When she opened her apartment door she was confronted by Squall, unclothed save for a small, fluffy pink towel wrapped around his waist.

"Oh my gods," Rinoa exclaimed, dropping the wash basket to cover her eyes. She spun around and thumped her head against the front door. _Muscles_, she thought as a blush crept across her face_. So Many. Muscles. Even his muscles have muscles_. "I thought I told you to wait in my room!"

"I was thirsty," Squall unapologetically explained, accompanied by the sound of the fridge door opening and shutting.

Rinoa felt laughter bubble up her throat despite herself. Squall didn't strike her as a pink fluffy towel kind of guy. She flapped a hand, head still pressed against the door. "Put some clothes on would you? And throw Seifer his robes."

"Can't. He's busy."

That gave her pause. "Busy how?"

"He's taken a prisoner."

Pink towel and partial nudity be damned, Rinoa turned around to confront Squall, who had lifted his cleaned robe out of the basket and was appraising it with satisfaction. "Sorry – what?"

Squall sauntered towards the bathroom (where the broken door was propped against the frame), dismissively waving a hand. "A man came to the door and became aggressive when we wouldn't give him money or tell him where you were. So Seifer beat him and tied him up. He's guarding him in your bedroom. He wanted to kill him for threatening you but I thought it best to wait on your orders, in case you had further use for him."

"Wait, a man was threatening me…?"

Suddenly it clicked into place and Rinoa all but kicked down her bedroom door.

The landlord had been tied up with her bedsheets and was laying on his side on the floor. Seifer, wrapped in the other pink towel, sat on the edge of her bed with his legs spread in front of him, sword pointedly propped within arm's reach. Not that her landlord was going to do anything as he was _unconscious and bleeding_.

"This man –" Seifer began, but Rinoa cut him off with a screech.

"You are so _dead_!"

"Me?"

Rinoa sank to her knees with a groan. "Whhhy is this happening? Why did you have knock my landlord unconscious? He was no threat to you – or to me!"

Seifer jabbed a finger at her. "You're right about that! He's weak. I dunno what kind of lord of the land he is, but he's pathetic. Not even worth your contemplation, deysi."

"Stop calling me that! And it's not about being weak! I owed him rent. He came to collect the money that I owe –"

"Taxes?" Squall said from the doorway as he tied his robe shut. "Sorceresses don't pay taxes."

"Yes sorceresses do!" Rinoa wailed. "And they pay rent and bills and need nice, custom furnished apartments to live in. Which you might have ruined with your – your _stupidness_! Ugh. What am I gonna do now?"

"Kill him," Seifer said.

"Bribe him," Squall suggested.

Rinoa pinched the bridge of her nose. Behind her, the doorframe caught alight in a flicker of green flames. Squall quietly patted it out before she noticed.

"I'll have to pay him up front," she said dejectedly. "Which means I'm gonna have to contact…" She trailed off, then turned a poker-hot glare on Seifer. "You! Put some clothes on. Also: you're going to have to apologise to the landlord when he wakes up… I'll have to tell him that you're body guards sent by Caraway to protect me from a potential… Geez I don't know. Terrorist threat against a suspected Galbadian figurehead?" Her expression soured. "As if I could be…"

She stood up and fished her phone out from her bedside table drawer. She sent Caraway a brusque text asking for rent money to be deposited into her bank account. She begrudgingly added a kiss on the end; not that he would appreciate it, it was more as a sign that she was grovelling a little, in case he suddenly decided to teach her a lesson on independency.

Message sent, she glared between Squall and Seifer. "I'm going into town. Please stay out of trouble while I'm gone and make sure you're nice to Mr Brack when he wakes up. You have to apologise, alright? Apologise _nicely_." She pointedly stared at Seifer here. "In fact, just let Squall do that talking."

Seifer barked out a laugh. "Hah! That is the first and last time you're gonna hear anyone say that, Leonhart. Do you even know how to string more than one sentence together at a time?"

"No fighting!" Rinoa barked, raising a finger. "That's rule number one! Rule number two is that we don't take our landlords prisoner. Or kill or _bribe_ them. Got it?"

* * *

She wanted to check the library to see if the books she wanted were in, but decided to see Cid instead. She rang the university to check where he was, then headed over to the campus once they confirmed he was in attendance.

He was just finishing off a lecture on the fall of Crea, a civilisation that had stood on what was now Balamb. He seemed in a rush to get somewhere and was cramming notes into a leather briefcase while his students left the hall.

"Mr Kramer, may I speak with you?"

Cid's eyes lit up when he saw Rinoa, though his expression was still underlined with worry. "Miss Heartilly! My star archaeologist! You're the talk of the history department, do you know that? The intern who discovered Izamel's Tomb!"

"I, uh, didn't actually do anything. I just fell into a hole."

"A hole that we might never have found if not for your keen observational skills," Cid dismissed with a smile. "You wouldn't believe what a stir the discovery has made. Sorceress cults are falling over each other to turn the burial site into a temple of worship, divination engineers want to test the stone for residual magic, historians are practically flinging themselves at my door to get copies of the photographs, and don't get me started on the scientists in Esthar –"

"Is the coffin still here? In Timber, I mean."

"Hm? Oh. Ah, no." Cid scratched his head. "Esthar dispatched their own people for its retrieval. Said we were taking too long arranging its deportation." He chuckled. "It's true I might have been a tad sluggish, but…" He shrugged. "I doubt Esthar will let us see it again. We had to make the most of the time we had."

Rinoa breathed a sigh of relief knowing that it was gone. She prayed she'd never have to see it again. "Did they… Have they opened it?"

Cid sighed. "Who knows? Estharians keep their cards close to their chest. But we did take some xrays before it was shipped off and it did show a skeleton inside. Nothing else of particular interest. Not that a skeleton isn't interesting but as a sorceress' tomb well… I would've thought…"

"What?"

"We had a para-magic specialist look at it too – he's an ex-Estharian para-magic researcher, actually – using those fancy sensors that the military use to find GFs. But there was nothing. Of course, everyone knows that sorceresses must relinquish their powers to another when they die, but the writing on the coffin and the walls of the tomb strongly suggest she'd bound her powers inside the coffin. Such a thing might be possible, there's many sealing techniques used in the military, plus evidence of sealing magic used in the past, and I presume a sorceress' knowledge of magic would far exceed any of our simple mortal powers…" He trailed off, lost in thought.

Rinoa gnawed at her lip. At length she said, "I have to talk to you."

Cid blinked out of his reverie. "Oh? Is it about your dissertation?"

"Uh. No. It's about… Izamel's tomb."

Cid perched on the edge of his desk and waved his hand in a friendly manner. Rinoa's heart fluttered nervously; the poor man was probably expecting an educational question. If only it was so simple.

"I opened the tomb," Rinoa admitted. Then she spoke in a rush, the admission spilling out of her like a sink overflowing with water. "I'm sorry, I really am, I know it was stupid. I'm stupid. I shouldn't have touched anything – I mean, I know you said that too: you said _twice_ not to touch anything. I didn't think I was doing any harm so I just – I just pushed it open! And when –"

"Wait – what? You… opened the coffin?"

Rinoa took a shaky breath. "Yes."

"But the lid was shut when we entered the tomb…"

"Yes. It… closed by itself. I think. Or maybe I just hallucinated it –"

"I think that is more probable," said Cid. "Maybe you had sunstroke… Or a trick of the light? The lid was tightly sealed when it was excavated."

"And I would totally agree with you," Rinoa said, "if it wasn't for… everything that's happened."

Cid appraised her, his forehead crinkling into a canvas of wrinkles. He said nothing, so Rinoa continued.

"When I opened the coffin a cloud of blackness flew at me. I could've sworn they were flies but… And –and then I saw purple light! And when I opened my eyes they were gone. The coffin was shut again. And when I turned around…" She took a sharp breath.

"Yes?"

"There were two men. And since then they've been following me and I've been feeling weird and I… I… can use magic. At least I think it's magic. It stops rain. Or, I can stop rain. And set bricks on fire! I have no idea if that's magic but..."

Cid stared at her. His eyes were a brew of concern, horror and excitement. He clasped his hands in front of him; a nervous reflex. "Alright. Alright. So. Let's be frank: you're saying that you opened the coffin and you think that Izamel's powers, which were sealed inside, have transferred to you?"

"… That's what I'm told."

"By who?"

Rinoa sighed heavily. "The two knights. Izamel's Knights. They… They are loyal to me now because they were enslaved to Izamel's powers and now that I have Izamel's powers they're enslaved to me. Not that I want them! They're annoying and –"

"Wait, Izamel's Knights? The Eagle and the Lion?"

She recalled the symbols on the tomb. "I guess?"

Cid ran a trembling hand through his hair. "Are you sure it's them?"

"I… don't know. They seem genuine enough though and… familiar somehow. The strange power in me reacts to their presence. I can't explain it. They are… How do I say? They are_… ies hokilm ca solk._" She clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. The words had appeared naturally in her mind, and so it seemed just as natural to say them out loud, except when she did she realised that it wasn't in Standard. It wasn't any language spoken in the world anymore. It was –

"Did you just speak Iklatek?" Cid asked.

"I don't know. I don't _know_! This is what I mean! Nothing makes sense! It's just there wasn't a word to describe the bonding state of sorceress and knight in Standard and the words just popped up in my head like…" But she couldn't describe that either. Not without Iklatek anyway. "What's happening to me?" she asked despairingly.

Cid's brow furrowed. "I need to think about this. If what you're saying is true then…" His gaze went stony. "You mustn't tell anyone about this, Rinoa. Not until I've done some research. If Odine Laboratories get wind of this…"

"Odine Laboratories?"

"Ah, nevermind. Where are the Knights now?"

"At my apartment." _Hopefully_.

"Keep them there, out of sight. I'll have you signed off school and work. I'll say you're sick –"

"But –"

"Just until we know more about what's happening. I'll call you when I find out more, Rinoa. If there are any changes then contact me immediately. Oh, and to prove the authenticity of the men claiming to be Izamel's Knights, ask them these questions." He ripped a sheet of paper from a notebook and scribbled onto it with a blue biro. He folded it up and gave it to her before she could read it. "It's not much, but it's a start. Also, take this." From his suitcase he retrieved a book. "'A History of the Sorceress', by Jane Keezak. There's direct documentation of the ascension of the last Sorceress, and speculation of the those further back in history. Including Sorceress Izamel."

When Rinoa took the book, she noticed her hands were shaking. Telling someone outside her ring of oddballs made the whole situation more real. Suddenly, she was very, very frightened.

"Mr Kramer… Do you think I'm really a sorceress now?"

Cid's eyes softened. "Don't worry. We'll sort this out. Just take it a day at a time." He chuckled ruefully. "You never know, this might end up being nothing more than an old fashioned curse."


	5. Brawl

Thank you for everyone's reviews so far! If you're still enjoying it by the end of the chapter I'd appreciate any feedback :)

(Spoiler alert: I suck at poetry)

* * *

**Chapter _Four_**  
_Brawl_

Rinoa deliberated over Cid's suggestion to keep Squall and Seifer out of sight, but after a day of being confined they were both intolerably belligerent towards eachother, Rinoa and her apartment. Even the television, something entirely foreign to them, was a source of unease and temporary distraction at best; the pair were far more interested in fighting eachother and what was going on in the outside world. She kind of respected the latter, so after a lengthy lecture on how it was acceptable to act in public ('no fighting, or magic or calling me 'sorceress'') she decided to take them to a local bar as a sort of test run, under the cover of night.

"What, are you scared we're gonna burn the city down or somethin'?" Seifer jeered as they walked out the front door (_Well, yes, actually,_ was Rinoa's repressed response, missing the irony completely). His loud threat was thankfully masked in Iklatek, but the language itself drew a few looks from passers-by. Rinoa was prepared and had arranged a cover up lest anyone ask: Squall and Seifer were her cousins visiting from the appropriately Estharian sounding village of Iza Drek. She prayed they didn't actually run across anyone from that side of the continent. She would have been terribly unlucky if that was the case, but then again, her luck had been sparing this past week.

Rinoa had expected the knights to act as tourists, hence why she'd created the fabrication. For that's surely what they were: tourists in a new time and place. She'd anticipated dragging them along while they gawped open-mouthed at the modern architecture of Timber: the cars, the electric lights, the brick tenements, the airplanes overhead. Yet they took it all in their stride. They drank in every alien corner and street like they were assessing it, committing it to memory, scanning for potential danger. Seifer prowled ahead and shouldered through crowds and leered at Galbadian soldiers, pitching between heady arrogance and belligerence with such unpredictability that Rinoa felt she always had to keep half an eye on him. He didn't even know where he was going but he had this way about him that fooled even her; like he knew everything already, knew something everyone else didn't, and all this change and all these strange people were beneath him, were outside his private knowledge, and therefore irrelevant.

Squall moved with his own confidence, unperturbed but quietly observant. He didn't seem to care for his surroundings or its inhabitants. He, too, walked sure of step like the streets were familiar, deceptively cool and calm, though he fell a step or two behind Rinoa, uninterested in commanding a pretence of leading the way.

Rinoa found she was intrigued by their personas. If they were truly knights from decades ago, they must have had some amazing stories. She hadn't thought to ask so far…

She fingered the folded up paper Cid had given her with the list of questions. She'd been toying with the prospect of asking them but in truth she was frightened of what they might say, or more, what their answers might mean for her. She still hadn't fully accepted that they were knights inexplicably transported six hundred years into the future and now linked to her by a bond created from powers that once belonged to a bloodthirsty dictator and which now belonged to her, apparently.

Yeah.

So Rinoa took them to a small locally run bar sporting a Trabian name that probably translated into something banal like 'Drinking House', but it had fancy lettering and a name that rolled off the tongue: Es Glazé Estella.

It was furbished in typical Timberian fashion: a little run down and drably furnished; a reflection of the war. Not that Timber was majorly suffering from the occupation, but Galbadia leeched their resources just enough to make a point, just enough to keep the little people in line, and because of that little businesses suffered just enough so they couldn't afford luxuries like a refurb. It made Rinoa fume to think about it. The large enterprises secured trade with Galbadia because they didn't possess Timberian pride. Most of the directors operated from Deling anyway, and she doubted few were born or even lived in Timber. So they knelt easily to the tax whims and business models set out in typical totalitarian fashion by dear old Vinzer Deling, and in turn Galbadia favoured them with trade. Now districts of Timber were like ghost towns, dominated by huge businesses that stank of Deling and which monetised their respective markets.

Well, that would be one of the first things on Rinoa's agenda for change when she ran for election. Power to the people and all that.

They took seats by the window, battered leather couches that curled around a table. Seifer ostentatiously commandeered an entire couch, leaving Rinoa and Squall to the two armchairs opposite. Squall hunkered into his, showing the first signs of something other than apathy as he cast a broody glare at the loud groups of drinking students. Apparently socialising wasn't his forte.

"Deysi, this place isn't safe," Squall said quietly. "We should move to a more secure location."

Rinoa wriggled into the couch unconcernedly. "Nobody knows I'm a… a sorceress. And I'm not about to go blasting fireworks out of my fingers."

Squall's eyes flickered with doubt. "You haven't got your powers under control yet. If something were to happen – "

"We'll deal with it," Seifer said loudly, apparently having heard them above the din with his creepy knight-hearing. He waved a hand lazily to the crowd. "We could take 'em. You should show them, anyway."

"Show them what?" Rinoa asked.

Squall hissed, "Shut up, you idiot. It isn't the time –"

"Show 'em who you are," Seifer spoke over him. "Show them what you can do. If they fear you, no one will bother you, and if they do start somethin' then they'll have to go through me first, and trust me, it'll end so poorly for them that no one would think twice about it again." His eyes gleaned. "Whatever this war is, you can't win it if you're just pretending to be normal. You gotta make a statement, give 'em somethin' to think about, and then you can start dictating your terms."

Rinoa quailed under his suggestion. Surely she wasn't so strong that her powers would influence the war? That she could crush the Galbadian army and liberate Timber? She was just Rinoa – just a politics student!

Besides, wouldn't that make her just another Vinzer Deling?

She stared uncertainly at her hands.

"You don't have to do anything now," Squall said. "And you definitely don't have to do anything _he_ suggests. It would be better to lay low until you've harnessed your magic. Then…" He hesitated. "If you want to fight in this war then we can do that. But nothing good will come of making a scene."

"A _statement_," Seifer corrected.

Squall's eyes flashed darkly; lightning on distant thunderheads. "If you think you can fool me then you've got another thing coming."

"Oh yeah? Then what's your plan, Squall? Just sit around gatherin' dust while –"

"That's not what I mean. You can't just –"

"I'm not going to do anything right now," Rinoa cut off their argument. The tension between the two somehow ricocheted onto her, like tendrils of electricity jumping between conductors. It was unsettling. Was that to do with their bond thingy, or was she simply picking up on social cues? At length, she said, "I haven't had enough time to… to come to terms with all of this. I'm going to get us drinks."

Squall stood up. He looked irritated, though whether it was at her or Seifer, she couldn't tell. "I'm going to secure the perimeter."

_Because that's normal_, Rinoa thought. "Alright. Just don't… don't start any fights. Seifer, stay –" But when she turned the other knight was gone. She spun in a half circle and quickly picked him out of the crowd, talking to a group of girls. She huffed, went to turn to Squall to complain, but found him gone too. She threw up her hands. "So much for loyalty."

The question was: what did people even drink six hundred years ago? Wine was a stable throughout history, right? She tried to picture Squall and Seifer drinking out of elegant wine glasses and supressed a giggle. In the end she just brought them both colas. Feeding them alcohol probably wasn't the best idea in the world. Though she did add some rum to hers. Hells, she needed the drink right now, fairness be damned.

She settled into the armchair and fingered through the book Cid had given her. Thankfully the bar was relatively quiet, as far as bars went anyway, and the only accompaniment to her thoughts was the fusion of chatter from surrounding tables. Nearer the bar, a group was chanting, cajoling a comrade into downing their drink. She briefly wondered what 'secure the perimeter' meant anyway, then tried to concentrate on her book. It was relatively thick, despite the title declaring it to be a 'brief' history of sorceresses. How many sorceresses were there?

The contents told her: three hundred and twenty one. So far. That the author was aware of. Some simply fell under the radar, too afraid to even admit their powers. Rinoa didn't blame them, but a strong part of her didn't agree with that cowardice. If she was a sorceress, she didn't want to waste the opportunity. In truth, she wanted people to listen to her as a political figure because of her opinions, not because she was Rinoa Heartilly, General Caraway's daughter, or because she was Rinoa Heartilly, Hyne's Daughter. She didn't need those titles. She was smart and willing and worked hard. Surely that was enough?

But she couldn't condemn this free pass into the world of politics. People would have to listen to her because she was the Sorceress. She would use her power for the good of the people, not for herself, or to conquer Galbaldia. Timber's liberation was her only goal. Right? Right.

She flicked to the page about Izamel and began to read.

_'Unlike her predecessor Sorceress Cleora II, Sorceress Izamel is classified as an Aggressor. She did not play a subtle role in politics nor did she rule any cult, rather, she directly tackled an ongoing war and established her role as a power head among the other influential parties that ruled her time, most notably the royal line of Do'shin, whose family had governed the Centran Continents for generations._

_'Izamel was perhaps in her late twenties when she made her move in the war. Before that, her life is somewhat of a mystery, though her aggressive stance in the war suggests she might have suffered because of it, particularly because she boasted no family during her reign. It is too easy to cast speculations on Izamel's private life prior to her political moves, but perhaps her motives were based on revenge. Certainly the destruction she wrought offers no suggestion she was doing it to carve a better, peaceful future for her fellow man._

_'The time when she inherited her powers is debatable. She might have inherited them young and chose not to reveal herself, until a possibly traumatic turn of events during the war triggered her into becoming Active. Alternatively, she might just have received them later in life. Regardless, she did not tread lightly and publicized her presence in a violent and spectacular show of magic wherein she abruptly ended the long battle of Grey Fields. There are a few accounts from military personnel of that time, and a poem, which depicts her initial display of power most vividly:_

_From otherside the fallow field,_  
_O'er plains of sharpened steel_  
_Where nevermore a seed would yield_  
_From 'neath the blood that men had spilled_  
_She walked across; then o'erhead_  
_The skies were drawn apart by thread_  
_Behold! A darkness called to spread_  
_To show where only cursed ones tread;_  
_And 'tween the cracks the sky did weep_  
_And 'tween the cracks the sky did seep_  
_And those poor souls that could not flee_  
_Were burnt in flame from o'erhead_  
_Which tore their skin until they bled_  
_Crushed by brimstone heaven-sent_  
_Until all life was cursed and dead.'_

(Rinoa swallowed thickly and wiped her lips with the back of her hand before she continued reading.)

_'Of course, all poetry is prone to exaggeration for the sake of prose, but recent geological excavation of Alucid Plains has uncovered rock of entirely foreign constitution to what is native of the area, suggesting that there was some form of bombardment during the early years of Izamel's appearance. Spells from other sorceresses prove that there is a way to pull down passing meteorites from space with the sheer force of their will. Certainly, this is a magic of terrifying force, and if that truly was the case, it is unlikely the Do'Shin's army stood a chance against this single lady, who managed, in a matter of moments, to end a battle that had gone on for over half a year.'_

Rinoa continued to read through speculation of Izamel's early reign, becoming increasingly more wrought with every account of violence. It seemed the Sorceress would appear at critical points in battle to grant it a savage end, then would disappear for sometimes weeks, presumably to recover from a drain on her magic, or to plot and scheme; the details here were guesswork at best. And she hadn't yet touched upon the discreet political manoeuvres that swayed the clans in her favour. Was it fear or manipulation that dictated their loyalty? Was that why Squall and Seifer had willingly subverted to her? To protect their clans?

Speaking of which.

Rinoa looked up from her book. She'd been so lost in reading she'd forgotten the time, and the bar was more crowded then she remembered and her drink was empty. She stared at it, disgruntled. What was the point in having two escorts if they couldn't even buy her drinks?

But they were nowhere to be seen. She considered waiting until they came back, but then again there was no guarantee they _would_ come back. This caused a flare of panic. They wouldn't just run off, would they? Leave her alone with her new burden? They promised they'd help her! Or. Well. They said they were forced to do so because of Izamel's curse.

Rinoa forcibly smothered down her panic. She was being selfish. She'd told them she wanted their freedom but what did she do the moment they showed signs of functioning independently of her? Tried to reel them like fish wriggling off the hook. She needed to treat and respect them as people. But their existence clarified her sanity, and honestly, she didn't want to be alone with her crazy powers right now, and if anyone understood what was happening to her, it was those two weirdos.

Begrudgingly, she relinquished her seat and went to the bar in hopes of finding them, and admittedly to order another drink. The book had left her quite unsettled and there was the insistent buzzing of magic under her skin that was making her fingers tingle. She kind of hoped more alcohol would take the edge off.

_If they've gone off with girls I'm gonna be so mad_, Rinoa thought acidly. Not that she cared what they did or who they did it with, but she also kind of did. They'd declared their loyalties to her, promised to protect her, so they wouldn't just run off with the first thing in a mini skirt, right? Because that would be a real scummy thing to do. Then again it had been, like, six hundred years so she couldn't blame them either…

As she sipped her third drink and kept a keen eye open for her traitorous escorts, a ripple of unease spread over the crowd, starting at the doors and shifting towards the bar. Rinoa quickly identified its source: five Galbadian soldiers, armed and armoured, muscling their way with typical soldier brutishness through the throngs and to the bar. Rinoa's face screwed up with distaste. This bar was clearly Timberian, the clients clearly locals. Only the young and belligerent soldiers would be so crass. The older, the wiser, they came in pairs or threes out of uniform, out of hours, and they kept to themselves mostly, and because of that the Timberians left them mostly to themselves too. But these armoured brutes were not welcome here. And they knew it.

"Assholes," the bar woman muttered under her breath.

A few of the student groups pointedly edged away from the bar, unwilling to become tangled in the political tensions, while the older and thorough Timber-bred cliental remained where they sat, like stubborn old dogs likely to bite anyone foolish enough to extend a hand.

The leader of the Galbadian squad quickly established himself by shoving to the front. He leaned over the bar, a challenging sneer quirking his lips. "Four pints of whatever's on tap. None of that local Timberian crap, mind. Whatever you've got imported from Deling."

The barwoman bristled. "We don't have imports here. On tap is Three Barrells or Black Thorn. Which do you want?"

"You got nothin'?" He snorted. "And you wonder why your businesses are bein' run into the ground. Well, I'm not drinkin' any of that cat piss, so you better go find me something that's not brewed in a back-country basement."

The older Timberian men were glaring at the soldiers now, their conversations hushed beneath the weight of their avarice.

"We don't have any," the barwoman said levelly. "Trouble understanding my back-country accent, city boy?"

The soldier's sneer crumpled. "I can shut this place down," he said quietly. "Could ask to see your licences, if I took a fancy to it."

"My licences are valid."

"Are they now? Well, maybe I have a hard time readin' the back-water scrawl you call Standard. Or maybe your licence might… disappear?"

"Get out." It came not from the barwoman but from an old war veteran with an eyepatch, wizened but full of temper. He and his crew stood up from a table and approached the bar, the soldiers. The latter was unimpressed, but fingered their sheathed gunblades with notable pugnaciousness.

"Your kind ain't welcome here, so best you leave in peace now," the old man said, "or pieces, later."

"Are you threatening a Galbadian officer?" one of the soldiers said. "That's an offence that could get you jailed, or worse."

The old man spread his arms. "You've made the whole of damn Timber a jail, so it'd make no difference to me. But maybe puttin' down a dog or two'll make the effort worthwhile."

The Galbadian captain unsheathed his weapon and the bar went deadly quiet. "You're under arrest for violating the law of –"

"I. Don't. Give. A. Shit," the old man spat, then quite literally spat, at the soldier's feet.

The soldiers advanced as a unit, the barwoman cried out in either anger or alarm, and in the heat of the moment Rinoa yelled out too, flinging her hands out to stop their advance. Her anger and fear was a hot, roiling thing; a serpent uncoiling slowly from the pit of her belly, a pit where the fire and ice sat waiting, brewing. It rose up out of her slowly at first, and as her hands shot forward it blasted up and through her like a projectile.

The room began to shake. Tables began to rock back and forth. Bottles of liquor trembled on shelves, toppled, and smashed on the floor. Then every glass from every table flew simultaneously at the soldiers and exploded. Fragments of glass burst in all directions, deflected off the armour, and people screamed. Rinoa reflexively shielded herself from the lethal spray but they missed, every single shard, repelled by some unseen force as tangible as the soldiers' armour. The lights began to flicker and the sound of the table legs knocking against the floor became thunderous. More bottles fell from shelves and smashed and with a fizzle and a pop the light bulb above the bar burst.

Rinoa crouched down, hands over her head. Her breathing came fast and hot but the emotion leaked out of her unbidden. She couldn't control it; the power rolled off her like tentacles, whipping this way and that, throwing glasses and smashing bulbs. A chair was flung across the bar and exploded into splinters against the opposite wall. People were screaming now and they swarmed towards the exit, piling over one another in a frenzy as the whole world seemed to shake at Rinoa's whim.

_Calm down calm down calm down _

The mantra only worked to frighten her more, and with her fright the power strengthened. Her magic whipped away anything perceived as a threat: knives and forks shot upwards and became impaled in the ceiling, tables overturned to create a makeshift fort, the light bulbs above her exploded and plunged her into shadow. The big window at the front of the cafe shattered and long fragments of glass flew across the bar and imbedded in the ground around her in a tight circle, jagged edges facing outwards.

"M-magic use in strictly forbidden for civilian use!" The voice came from the leader of the squad, who was standing around her makeshift defences with his sword drawn and hands shaking. He peered at her without fear, but definite apprehension, no doubt sizing her up. "All GFs must be handed over to military personnel or the local authority. You're under arrest for harbouring –"

"I leave you alone for five minutes and this is what happens?" The strong voice cut over the Galbadian's with careless authority. Rinoa peered over the lip of an overturned table and spotted Seifer close to the bar's entrance, his sword lazily rested on his shoulder.

He caught Rinoa's stare and smirked. "And you had the nerve to shout at us for trashing your apartment? Look at this mess! You better not expect us to clean this up."

The soldier closest to him hefted his gunblade. "Drop your weapon."

Seifer's smirk just grew, and Rinoa definitely felt something over the bond: a feverish concoction of excitement and hunger, barely restrained. She suddenly wondered what would happen if she asked him to stand down. Could she control him? Would he listen?

They stood in a silent showdown for a moment. The last of the unbroken bulbs swung to and fro, making the shadows to slide over the bar in a taunting sort of dance.

"Deysi."

A hand on her shoulder. She jumped and craned her neck, and saw Squall standing behind her. He'd picked his way through her defences and now he gently pulled her to her feet. Half the soldiers turned in unison and the leader barked, "Stop! Stop right there! You're all being taken in for questioning. Let go of the girl. I said _let go of the girl_!"

In that moment of distraction Seifer lunged forward. His blade was a slice of light cutting through flickering shadows as it arched up and into the exposed face of the nearest soldier. The man's jaw was severed, his lips and nose shorn neatly apart, his left eyeball pulverised, tugged from its socket in a spray of shattered bone and gore. The blade bit deep and the man was jerking a lifeless jig before he hit the ground. Rinoa didn't have time to begin to process what she just saw before Seifer twirled with a fighter's grace toward the other soldier, who likewise was immobilized by the sudden onslaught, and that hesitation spelled his end as Seifer's sword pierced his armour, almost slicing his left arm clean off and bit deep into his ribs. The blade continued through and out, blood and ambiguous fleshy lumps plopping to floor, as the soldier's arm dangled almost comically from his shoulder by bloody tendons, the bone completely cut away.

"Deysi." Squall's voice, though it was far away. She realised that everything had gone deathly still, her powers momentarily quietened by her shock, and the room was growing dark around the edges – or was that her sight?

"Deysi!" Squall began to drag her around the strange fortification she'd made, the glinting shards of glass, jagged splinters and piles of furniture. In the distance – oh everything seemed so distant – she heard the cries of the soldiers and an intent plea for back up. And from across the bond she felt Seifer: a persistent, gleeful pounding under her thoughts.

_For me, that's all for me_

(for you)

_Killing those people for _

(you)

_Me_

Squall dragged her out the back entrance and then weaved along alleys and unlit roads until he stopped in a shadowy nook between two tall tenants. He turned to her and she stared at him blankly.

"Are you alright?" he asked. The question came hesitantly from him, as though he felt he should say something but wasn't sure what.

With dreamy slowness, she looked down at herself, at her hands. "I'm not hurt. I don't know. I don't hurt anywhere. There's no blood."

"I know you're not hurt," he commented impatiently. "I mean your powers. Can you keep them in check until we get back to the apartment?"

Rinoa's eyes drifted to a street lamp across the street. It was flickering.

"You're not doing that," Squall said.

She stared at him again. Her thoughts were turgid lumps of nothing, drifting out of reach, always out of reach. Almost in wonder she asked, "Can you read my thoughts?"

He blinked, expression unreadable. "No."

"Can I… read yours?"

"…Maybe. I don't know. Can you?"

She stared at him. "No."

He nodded bluntly. From across the bond, she thought she felt a flicker of relief. Now she was somehow attune to these flashes of emotion from both her Knights, she could glean them more clearly. It wasn't like reading their thoughts though, was it? Not even close.

Right now, she was glad she couldn't.

"I don't feel good," Rinoa said as she slumped against the wall.

"The sudden ejection of magic must have drained you," Squall said. "We should go back and wait for Seifer."

_It isn't that_, Rinoa thought as the image of the soldier's arm dangling from sinew burned across her mind. Her stomach revolted, and suddenly she was vomiting rum and coke onto the sidewalk. Squall stood motionless beside her, radiating confusion across the link, and not without a touch derisiveness. No sympathy. Typical.

_He and Seifer aren't so different afterall_, Rinoa thought as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She stayed like that for a moment, hunched over and trembling, leaning against the vomit-splattered brickwork of someone's home.

What was going to happen now? Regardless of whether Seifer left anyone alive, the news would spread of the soldiers' slaughter, and of the mysterious magic host and the two armed men who killed them in cold blood.

Somewhere in the direction of the bar, sirens started blaring. Rinoa startled upright like a frightened cat.

"Let's go," Squall said. "You can recover once we're safely away."

"But where's safe? I'm not safe. I'm the one who should… who should just…"

"We'll help you. You can learn – "

"I don't want to learn! I want it to go away!"

Squall huffed, crossed his arms and looked away. The feelings across the bond were complex. Too complex. Or maybe he was undecided. Eventually, he said, "You either learn, or you kill, or you get killed. There's little choice in the matter."

"Maybe a magic suppressant? Is that a thing?"

"I don't know."

Rinoa blinked despondently at the ground. Whatever was happening was happening fast, and the situation was escaping her. She needed to take control, one way or the other, before things got more out of hand than they already were.

* * *

The after effects of her magic use revealed themselves when she got home: a pounding headache and numbness in her fingers. Squall primly informed her that medication would be ineffective now she was a sorceress, and if she just harnessed her powers she could make the headache go away anyway. She ignored him and popped three aspirin, but of course, much to her chagrin, he was right: the headache didn't budge. It was a real dousy too, blinking stars in front of her vision while her head felt like it was an anvil being pounded by a hammer. Wonderful.

So she lay on the couch in the dark under Squall's watchful eye, who didn't complain about being steeped in darkness and silence, seemed quite content with it, actually. Until Seifer came home, full of gleeful adrenalin and swinging his sword, which was, Rinoa noted with another violent pitch of her stomach, covered in ambiguous flecks of gristle and blood.

"Well, that went well," Seifer declared as he kicked the door shut with a bang that made Rinoa's head shudder.

She said, "Please don't tell me you walked home with your sword like that?"

"That's how you make a statement," Seifer said with evident satisfaction. "Puts people in their place. Announces your presence. 'Cause they should know. Everyone should know."

"They will now," Rinoa complained through gritted teeth. "I would've preferred a bit more discretion. A public announcement or something. Now you've tarnished my name before I've even had the chance to come to terms with everything, and announced my appearance in traditional sorceress fashion: by murdering innocents. The people are gonna love me now. Thanks for that."

Seifer's contentment banked into something sizzling and dour. "But I –"

"Stop arguing with me!" Rinoa glared at him, and behind his head a projection of magic punched an indent into the door. Seifer looked at the indent, Squall looked at Seifer, Seifer looked at Squall, then they both looked at Rinoa, and Rinoa groaned and held her pounding head in her hands. The knights went quiet and after some time Rinoa said, "We're going to establish some rules. I don't know how you did things in the Tensin Era, but in this era we don't randomly slaughter people."

"They were soldiers; they were your enemy," Seifer stated. "It's my job to cut them down."

"It's not… not that kind of war. You have to be diplomatic. I don't want to rule by fear. I want to make changes that are good and fair, not beat down everyone that opposes me –"

"But you hate the Galbadians," Seifer argued. "I can feel it. Squall can feel it. You hated those soldiers in that moment; you wanted them dead!"

Rinoa paled. Had she? Maybe, but – she would never have killed them given the choice! That choice had been taken from her and now it was too late.

"Those men… might not have been bad men. They might have had wives and children, mothers and fathers and siblings. They might have just been following orders. So you can't… just murder people anymore. Okay? Maybe you did under Izamel but I'm not her and I don't want to become like her. So. Rule number one is: No killing. Acting on what you think you feel across this – our – bond, or whatever. That's not okay." She took a deep, shaky breath. "If we are bound together, if you're going to be around for a while, then please don't do anything like that again without my say so. You're kind of like… my representatives. So if you do bad stuff then you make me look bad."

"We'll intervene if it means protecting you," Squall said, crossing his arms. "If one of those men had attacked you outright, it's our compulsion to protect you."

Rinoa sighed. "Well, can't you just… knock them out or something?"

Squall shrugged.

Seifer said, "That's no fun."

"Rule number two: you can do what you want as far as… spare time goes. I mean, I don't want you tagging along with me everywhere. So, go do stuff during the day, okay? You're not my slaves; you're your own people. The world is different from the one you knew so I'll make sure you're ready to face it, otherwise you'll just draw attention to yourselves. Until you've got your feet, you can stay with me under the pretence of being bodyguards. But after that… you both need to find your own places to live." Rinoa massaged her temple. The reality of the situation was finally setting in. _Are they going to be with me forever? What if I want to get married? What about in fifty years' time? Is this bond really eternal?_

It still all seemed like a bad dream. There was so much to think about, to consider. Too much.

"What about you?" Squall asked.

"Hm?" Rinoa blinked, bit her lip. She shrugged. "I'm going to look for a way to get rid of these powers. There's people I might be able to talk to."

"It's risky revealing yourself."

"I know… But I have to do something. And if I can find a way to get rid of my power then you two might be freed as well!"

Squall and Seifer looked at each other, then back at Rinoa. They said nothing, but conflicting emotions played across the bond: doubt, hope, fear, longing. Just like how Rinoa couldn't perceive a life with them, perhaps they in turn couldn't perceive a life without their Sorceress.

"Never mind us," Squall said. "You need to focus on yourself. If it hadn't been for your amateur magic show then we wouldn't have had to intervene."

"Don't pin this on me!" Rinoa said, aghast.

"Well, what did ya want me to do?" Seifer said. "You were blarin' rage all over the damn bond and they turned on you so –"

"You've been pining for a fight ever since we got here," Squall accused.

"And you haven't?" Seifer sneered, his sword hanging in one hand as he shrugged. "You're just mad I got there first. Don't pretend you wouldn't have cut them down; I know you, Leonhart."

"Shut up."

"No fighting!" Rinoa snapped between the persistent pounding in her skull. "You're making my headache worse."

"Go to bed then," Seifer said irritably.

She went to argue but suddenly Squall loomed over her and glared at her narrowly. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow what?"

"You begin training. Learning how to handle your magic. If you don't start now you'll end up getting others or all three of us killed."

"But I don't know how!"

"We'll help you learn the basics. The rest will come naturally with time. The knowledge is inside of you, whether you like it or not. You just need a little… push in the right direction."

Rinoa slumped further into the couch, a pout tugging at her lips. But then she thought of those soldiers - the dead ones, the mutilated ones; the man with the jaw shorn in two, eye demolished in a splatter of gore – undone by the hand of her Knight. She couldn't face that again, couldn't have that on her conscience. If she became stronger – no, not stronger, in _control_ – then maybe she could prevent things like that from happening. She realised that's what frightened her most: the lack of control. Her life was of her own design and becoming a sorceress had definitely not been part of the plan. So. She would mold this unexpected event to fit her. Wouldn't let it control her. There must have been one sorceress somewhere in history that did good things, right? Right. And she was going to be the next one.

Rinoa sank into the couch and closed her eyes.

She was going to be the _best_ one.


	6. Fallout

**Chapter _Five_**  
_Fallout_

A half an hour train ride West of Timber, where the rolling plains wore patchwork quilts of tall grass and young crops, and thickets of forests stood guard around wide lakes, the weather showed no signs of repeating the recent spate of unpredictable spring time rain. Instead it was fresh and warm and the sky was unbroken. There was no one around, not this far out into the countryside. Just the soft hush of shifting grass to accompany the trilling of a meadow thrush and the occasional hoot of a distant train.

It might have been peaceful, if not for the two swordsmen sparring in the middle of the field.

Rinoa sat at a safe distance atop a null, trying to hide how impressed she was behind her book and a pair of dark sunglasses.

She didn't know why she was pretending not to watch them. It wasn't like she was surprised by their fighting skills; they were Knights, so it stood to reason that they'd be impressive in battle. But maybe showing them she was impressed would encourage their violent, unpredictable behaviour. And maybe only bad sorceresses were impressed by things like fighting.

Or maybe she just wanted them to try a little harder. Like, it would take more than a few flashy sword moves to impress her.

But Squall and Seifer were not paying attention to her anyway. If she was honest with herself, truly honest, that was the main reason why she was feigning indifference. She begrudgingly had to admit that she kind of liked their attention, and to suddenly have it diverted wasn't a great feeling. It made her feel small, unimportant. She realised that they weren't trying to impress her at all; they were trying to impress each other, and she'd hoped that when they eventually realised she wasn't watching they would reroute their efforts to impressing her instead. Shouldn't a knight try to win the attention of his sorceress? Because she sure as hells didn't pick them, so they had to prove their worth now.

_What if I don't like them?_ she wondered suddenly. _What if we all hate each other? In a normal situation – well, normal for a sorceress anyway – the sorceress would pick her knight. Mine have just been dumped on me. _

Izamel must have seen something in the pair of them. Something useful and strong. But then again, Izamel hadn't been a nice sorceress, had she? Did that mean that Seifer and Squall weren't nice people?

She thought of Seifer cutting through the soldiers, the sickly glee that had consumed him, the hunger for more. And Squall's quiet envy, boiling underneath his thoughts, tinged black with ingrained bloodlust.

_They're fighters_, Rinoa realised. _That's why she picked them. Because they're fighters and they're strong and –_

They were killers.

That's what Izamel had needed: killers to do her dirty work where she couldn't, to fight off adversaries when she was at her most vulnerable. So what the heck was Rinoa expected to do with them? She didn't want to kill anyone. Really, she didn't need a knight at all; she didn't need _anyone's_ help! She was a strong, independent woman, for Hyne's sake! Hadn't she gotten that job at the bar by herself? And did all the house work and laundry by herself, rather than hire staff do it? Didn't she get taxis now, instead of private cars?

So. There. She didn't need knights. But she had them, and now she was beginning to wonder what she was going to do with them.

Squall's voice came back to her, stern and mildly chastising: _You need to focus on yourself._

Who was getting the raw end of the deal, here? Rinoa: for being forced into the role of one of the most powerful beings on the planet? Or Squall and Seifer: for being dragged along behind her in shackles?

She couldn't progress knowing they were trapped. Knowing they were her slaves. She needed to free them first, and if they chose to follow her after that then so be it. That would be fine. Because that would be their choice to make. Then once they were free she could focus on her career as a budding politician, albeit a budding politician with a penchant for magically setting things on fire and stopping the rain from falling. Yikes. Should probably leave that out of her manifesto.

There was a sharp cry and resounding clang from down below and Rinoa narrowed her wandering attention to the her two knights who were still engaged in battle. Or 'sparring', as Squall had corrected earlier. Whatever it was, it was violent. Squall had blood trailing in rivets down his forehead from a cut above his hairline, and Seifer was squinting though a swollen eye. They circled each other, prowling and focussed.

The pair of them baffled Rinoa. They were perfectly at ease in each other's company, almost like brothers, but there was a sharpness between them: an antagonistic abrasiveness of Seifer's half, and weary irritation on Squall's part; two pieces of the same puzzle that didn't fit together.

Rinoa had to be honest: she didn't know squat about fighting. The technical side of it anyway. She fought hard for what she believed in, of course, but if someone put a gun or sword in her hands she wouldn't know where to start. However, she was observant, and spotted major differences between their fighting techniques. Again, they were seemingly forged from the same metal, but their forms were unique. Seifer favoured one arm and his movements were swift and savage. He used chi attacks to substitute where his blade couldn't reach, and he twirled and spun with all the poised majesty of a dancer. Squall's attacks were more rooted. His stances were sure and measured and there was no disguising the sheer strength behind each thrust.

They were sweating now and streaked with grime, chests heaving, robes sticking to their backs and arms. They were, Rinoa mused, effortlessly attractive. They would've had the student body falling over themselves, had the situation been different. The focus and envy of all the boys and girls at college. She sure as hells couldn't tear her eyes off them now.

Embarrassingly, something of that radiated over their peculiar bond and the two men hesitated simultaneously, throwing her curious, off-balance glances.

Rinoa wondered if she had the power to make the ground open up and swallow her.

"Hey – uh, I thought you were going to train me?" she called. "You've been fighting for hours!"

Seifer lowered his weapon and strode up the hill towards her, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his wrist. "I don't hear you complainin'," he said with a smirk that indicated he knew exactly what she'd been thinking while watching them.

Rinoa masked her utter mortification behind a pouty scowl. "Do you even know anything about magic wielding? I mean, you're swordsmen, not sorcerers."

"Far be it from me to presume to teach my sorceress," Squall said with a dry kind of sass that implied he was going to do just that. "But unless you want to reveal yourself to an outside party, then we're all you've got. It's not about magic wielding anyway, it's about restraint."

"You two don't show any kind of restraint!" Rinoa accused.

Seifer and Squall exchanged a look and Rinoa was hit by a sudden, unmasked flare of deep seated animosity. She recalled something Cid said to her a few days previous when she'd asked how the Knights had died.

_Some say they killed each other._

"Trust me," Seifer said, "we're the fucking kings of restraint."

Squall snorted, and said nothing.

Rinoa's gaze darted between them, uncomfortable boiling in the heat of emotion that blazed across the bond. So she cleared her throat, stood up, brushed the dirt from her behind and spread her arms. "Well, I'm ready! Don't be too hard on me, now."

Seifer cast a dark look at Squall, then tsked moodily and shouldered his sword. "This is dumb. I ain't hanging around to teach a kid how to use her own magic."

"Hey!"

"We all have to start somewhere," Squall deadpanned.

"I'm gonna train," Seifer declared, and began to stride off.

"Wa-wait a second!" Rinoa shouted angrily. But he didn't wait, just ignored her and carried on walking. She clenched her fists angrily. "I said, _stop_!"

She felt a tug across the bond and he did indeed stop. He glared over his shoulder at her, silent. Waiting.

For what?

"Well?" he barked.

Squall crossed his arms and stared at the ground. Rinoa shifted from foot to foot. "Um. Well. No, I just… You can go. It's fine."

Seifer turned and preformed a mock bow. "Why, thank you, your majesty." Then he resumed walking.

Rinoa and Squall stared after him in silence, then at length she said, "You can't disobey me… can you?"

"We live to serve you, deysi."

Rinoa gripped one arm. "Is it like that with all knights? Or is it because of Izamel's curse?"

"I don't know. All knights swear themselves to their sorceress."

Rinoa looked at him. The sweat and grime had dried on his face, leaving him with a ruddy complexion. His mouth was drawn into a unsmiling line, but his eyes were bright and clear, reflecting the blue of the sky. His gaze shifted to her. She thought he looked tired.

"Why did you swear yourself to Izamel?"

He paused, then his brow knotted and he turned. "Let's begin your training."

"No. Tell me why you swore yourself to her."

Squall's expression was mutinous, but the bond was tugging him, rattling his chains.

"Tell me," she persisted.

The words were forced out of him, one by one, like dragging something out of viscous mud. "There was no choice. If I hadn't, everyone in my clan would have died. I thought if I just got close to her and found out her plans, I could send some warning to the clans beforehand, but…"

"Her magic," Rinoa put in. "It was too strong?"

Squall crossed his arms. "By the time I realised it was too late."

Rinoa looked over to where Seifer was. "I wonder if it was the same for Seifer?"

Squall snorted. "Who cares?"

"What's with you two, anyway?"

"What?"

"You and Seifer. Why don't you like each other?"

Squall hesitated. "It's not that simple."

"So tell me."

Squall rounded on her then, eyes flashing in anger, and she backed away in fright. He stopped short of her, took a sharp breath, then turned away.

"You're just like her," he spat.

She blanched, raised a hand, let it drop. "I'm sorry." And she was. For some reason she wanted to crack him open so badly, pry from him the stories of his past, glean some insight into the man underneath that stony armour. And she could have. That was the problem, wasn't it? She could order him to tell her everything. But… it would be cheating, and wrong. Breaking a lock to get through the door.

"I'm sorry," she said again, more resolutely this time. "I just want to understand what's happening. I want to understand why and how you got into this. Because I want to free you both from this curse, more than I want to free myself."

He looked at her, doubt playing across the bond.

"It's true." She spread her hands beseechingly. "Freedom of choice is a basic human right!"

"To understand the bond better, you'll have to understand yourself. Which means understanding your powers." He gestured to the grass. "Sit."

They kneeled opposite each other and he taught her. He was a good teacher, actually. Rinoa was surprised. He wasn't condescending or arrogant. He patiently went through everything from the beginning, starting with basic meditation techniques, concentration drills and then onto funnelling inner chi, moulding it and then manipulating it into something tangible, something that could be used.

"But it isn't magic," he told her. "It would be unwise to presume it's exactly the same, but it must be similar."

"Does everyone have chi?"

He shrugged. "I suppose. Some people can't access it at all, though it's still there inside of them. Others must learn from scratch, train themselves over the course of years. Some are just born with the skill."

"What category do you fall into?" she asked with an impish smile.

"All I've ever known is fighting," he deftly sidestepped the question and quashed her playful tone. "I've been training for as long as I can remember."

She thought of her childhood: the cruises on Caraway's yacht; her pony, Dasher; how her nanny would spend hours braiding her hair. She couldn't imagine a childhood without those little luxuries.

"That's sad," she said.

"That's war," Squall said blandly. "It would have been dishonourable to do anything other than fight."

"Is it the same for Seifer?"

Squall frowned. "Why don't you ask him yourself? I don't speak on his behalf."

_Touchy_, Rinoa thought. "Alright. So how do I manipulate my inner chi?"

"Like I said, it's all about control and restraint. Theoretically, it should come naturally to you, as you're a sorceress."

"Did Izamel have a lot of restraint?"

"She was… a very adept magic wielder."

Rinoa squinted at him. "She's dead, you know. You don't have to hedge politely around the fact anymore."

Squall shrugged. "She was needlessly cruel and theatrical."

"Is it true she ended the Battle of Greyfields by triggering a meteorite shower?"

"I wasn't there. But yeah, she could do that." He hesitated. "She caused extensive casualties on both sides during that battle. Thousands upon thousands died. That's the price of such powerful magic."

"Because she was fighting for her own personal gain, right? Because she wanted everyone to fall into submission, and she couldn't aim for total domination if there were still armies left to oppose her in the end, or mutiny against her."

Squall nodded approvingly. "That's why…"

"Yes?"

"That's why I had to get close to her. Because she would kill everyone, in the end."

"And the clans were afraid of her. They'd rather submit and risk being collateral damage than have her outright kill them all."

Squall's expression turned frosty. "Not everyone submitted."

A trilling sound and a high-pitched pop song interrupted their conversation. Rinoa's phone was ringing. She delved into her hand bag and fished it out, staring warily at the number on front. Selphie. Thank Hyne. A friendly voice at last.

"Hey Rinny! How you doing?"

Rinoa hesitated. How was she doing? Ah well. Better not to over complicate matters. "I'm fine. You okay?"

"Oh, I'm great. Just greaaaat…"

Rinoa frowned. "Selphie? You okay?"

"Totally! How are you, Rin? Like, for reals?"

"I'm… fine. Why?" A foreboding feeling spread in the pit of her belly. "What is it?"

"Well. So, like, I don't mean to be rude, but have you seen the front page of the Timber Times today?"

"Uh, no."

"Huh. Okay. Well. Surprise! You're on the front page."

"What?"

"Yup. Someone snapped you comin' out the back of the blown up bar with some hottie. Peeps be saying you blew it up! Like, BOOM! I mean, I'm standing outside the front of it now, Es Glazé Estella, I mean, and it's pretty wack, you know?"

"Wack?"

"Yeah, I'm trying to bring back some old school lingo. Did it sound lame?"

"Huh – um, no, wait… _Wait_. What am I doing on the front page of the papers again? They think I blew up the bar?"

"Did you?"

"No! Well. Yes. Sort of. I don't know! It's complicated." Reality began to set in and she gnawed on a fingernail. "Oh, gods, my name isn't on there, is it? Nobody recognised me, right?"

A drawn out pause. "…Surprise?"

"Shit."

"Shiz be cray cray," Selphie agreed solemnly. "So, uh, I knew you were all for liberating Timber but are you officially a terrorist now? Revolutionist, I mean. Revolutionist."

"I always have been! But I don't wanna blow stuff up. I didn't mean to." Rinoa sighed. "I really can't explain it right now. I'm sorry. Please don't think I'm crazy."

"I already thought you were crazy, so nothing's changed," Selphie remarked cheerfully. "Isn't your dad gonna be pissed?"

Rinoa groaned. She didn't want to think about what Caraway was going to do. An indefinite stay at the Island Cloest Hell suddenly seemed quite appealing. "Hey, you, uh… don't happen to own a cabin in the middle of nowhere-Trabia, do you?"

"Every Trabian owns a cabin in the middle of nowhere, silly. But that's beside the point. I think the authorities are looking for you at your apartment. I saw the landlord letting them in. He was _smiling_."

"Of course he was." _Dammit, Seifer_. "Thanks for the heads up, Selphie. Guess I'm homeless now…"

"Honestly, Rin, if there's anything I can do, you know I'm here for you. This is some serious stuff. You could go to prison."

Rinoa couldn't help but smile. "It's okay, Selph. I can handle myself."

"Also. Who was the hottie? Because seriously. He was hot. Dish the goss."

Rinoa threw an embarrassed glance at Squall, who politely pretended not to notice. "Ah, I can't talk about that right now. I'll see you soon, bye!"

Rinoa hit the hang up key and let her phone drop to her lap. She stared unseeingly across the grassland.

"Trouble?" Squall asked impassively.

Rinoa bit her lip. "Big time."

* * *

Hyne be praised that she'd brought a pair of sunglasses along with her. It wasn't like she was an instantly recognisable public figure, but it was creature comfort as she merged back into civilisation, because the problem was people were looking for her. And for Squall and Seifer for that matter. Most worryingly, since the papers had hit the stands Caraway was persistently trying to reach her via her cell, and she was persistently ignoring each call.

In a petty way, she was pleased to have caused him the fuss and embarrassment. She was proud to overtly oppose his totalitarian regime and fight for Timber's freedom, because in Rinoa's eyes, the crass manhandling and often shady tactics he used to bully Timber into submission was not okay. What Caraway did was not okay. And it made her so mad that she couldn't make him see sense. So she got some petty satisfaction knowing how humiliated he must have been over this, and how the upper class of Deling would be making underhanded remarks about this for weeks. He deserved as much.

Her pride lasted until she reached the outskirts of Timber, where was stopped short by a transmission on a giant television screen outside the train station.

" – terrorism of any form will not be tolerated. This attack in particular demonstrates the indiscriminate contempt of these so-called revolutionists, who, in their wanton attempt to make a point by slaughtering soldiers, ended up injuring Timberians and destroying a Timberian business."

Caraway was the same as when she'd last seen him a year ago: sharp lipped and sharp eyed, framed by creases that spoke of frowns and military hardships and scorn and not much else. He stood behind a podium that was backed by an obnoxiously large Galbadian flag and the microphone he was speaking into had the Deling's family crest on the front. His expression was cold. She wondered if he even cared that he was speaking about his only daughter, and not for the first time she wondered what Julia had seen in him.

"Terrorism benefits no one," he continued. "For too long we have been lenient on these extremists; but no more. Possession of GFs is strictly limited to military personnel only, not to empower Galbadia, but for the safety of the people, for everyone. If given to the wrong sort of people, the devastation wrought could be incomprehensible, and the destruction of the Timberian bar will be only the beginning."

"'The wrong sort of people,'" Rinoa muttered. "Basically anyone who doesn't agree with Vinzer Deling's administration."

"We cannot let this threat continue. Starting tomorrow there will be raids on all establishments and homes that are flagged by the military as suspicious of being involved with terrorist activity. Civilians are no longer permitted to keep weapons and these will be forcibly removed if found on civilian premises. Military personnel will be doubled and instilled with the rights to scan civilians for weapons and magic without warning or consent."

"They can't do that!" Rinoa bleated. "That's a blatant violation of section 44 of the Terrorism Act!"

Caraway stared stony faced at the camera. For a second, Rinoa felt like he was looking at her; aiming the message for her. "This is not a game. These are people's lives. Hard working, good people who strive for peace and prosperity. We will find these terrorists and return Timber to safety under Galbadian law. I will make it my personal mission to see all acts of insurgency crushed, and keep the streets of Timber free of violence and unrest. For everyone."

Caraway looked off screen and nodded, and the transmission cut out with a crackle, replaced with Deling's crest. Rinoa blinked at it, feeling numb.

Seifer chuckled and thumbed the hilt of his sword. "At least they don't suspect you're a sorceress."

Slowly, Rinoa ran a hand down her face. "No. No they don't. It's worse than that: they think I'm a terrorist. And now Timber is under severe oppression because of me and the real revolutionist won't be able to – won't be able to – " Her breath hitched in her throat. _Stupid, stupid, don't cry, you idiot._

Seifer and Squall glanced at her uncomfortably, anticipating waterworks.

"Maybe I should just step forward and tell people the truth…" she said, though her reluctance was palpable.

She'd read more of the 'History of Sorceresses' the night previous, and it revealed a bleak pattern on the public opinion of sorceresses, which in turn gave her an understanding of why some women chose not to reveal themselves.

Sorceresses were not welcome in society. Not today, not twenty years ago, not five hundred years ago. Upon revealing themselves, many were driven out of their communities, disowned by friends and family alike. The truly unfortunate ones were hunted down and murdered, often in horrific ways: burned, drowned, flayed, hanged, or worse, kept alive and tortured in an attempt to extract Hyne's power. It was also noted that most of those unlucky sorceresses (some as young as six years old) hadn't had the chance to acquire a knight or learn how to control their magic properly. As a result, they had no means to protect themselves, and were easily captured. The lucky ones were spared a grisly fate under the protection of their ward, while they took the time to master their powers and protect themselves respectively.

It was little wonder so many sorceresses went rogue.

For the first time, she felt a rush of gratitude that she had her Knights. The bond tightened in response and wordlessly they gravitated toward her, like dogs being pulled on a leash.

Rinoa sighed and closed her eyes. "What should I do?"

She was spared from her Knights' predictable response ('kill him' resonated across the link anyway and she scathingly ignored it) by her phone buzzing in her bag. She glanced at the screen, expecting it to be Caraway, but was surprised to see Cid's number pop up. She felt her stomach knot with anxiety; she was reluctant to confess her wrongdoing. But then again, who else did she have to talk to? And Cid knew already anyway.

"Rinoa? Rinoa, is that you? Are you okay? Tell me you're okay!" Cid's voice crackled with worry.

"I'm fine," she said automatically. "Well, okay, not fine. But I'm… I'm –"

"Where are you? Are you in Timber? Are you alone?"

"Uh, no – I'm… They're with me. The knights. And we're on the outskirts of Timber at a railway station – Monterago Line, I think."

"Good. Good, good. Stay there – no, don't stay there. I mean don't come back to Timber. It's dangerous here now."

"Dangerous? Dangerous how?"

"You need to go to your father. Go to Deling City. It's the safest place for you."

Rinoa recoiled from the phone in disgust. "To Caraway? No way. He'll lock me in my room forever. I'm serious. He will _literally_ _imprison_ me if he finds out what's happened."

"Good!"

"What?"

"Then you'll be safe. You'll be under the direct supervision of the Galbadian military. Foreign powers won't be able to touch you there without causing conflict, and General Caraway will never hand you over to them."

"Them?"

"And it will give you time and peace to… to come to terms with everything. Yes? And to straighten out your powers."

Rinoa frowned. "What' going on? What's happened?"

"You have to go now. It's –"

One minute she was on her phone, and the next minute the concrete of the platform was rushing towards her. Pain shot through her left shoulder as she hit the ground, pinned by a heavy weight, and she realised with a giddy burst of adrenalin that it was Squall on top of her.

"What –"

He jumped up and rushed forward, and in that moment the combined force of his and Seifer's adrenalin smashed into her side of the bond, causing her to cry out in alarm. She thought they were fighting, but when the haze of shock lifted she realised they weren't fighting each other, but several armed men dressed in civilian clothing.

Her Knights flanked her, swords drawn and muscles taut. Rinoa distantly realised there were no normal people here – no mothers with children, or groups of teenagers, or harried commuters in suits. How had she not noticed before?

A group of stony-faced men circled towards her, weapons in their hands.

"We have you surrounded," one man shouted. "Surrender without a fight and nobody will be harmed."

Her fear mounted, and so did her power. She felt it surge and she clamped down on it fright, but still it leaked out. Her panic spurred the need to protect herself, and her magic responded, snaking out into the environment to seek for a means to do so.

Rinoa glanced across the platform and there was a sudden shriek of metal on metal that made her jump. The men simultaneously turn to the noise, weapons half raised, wary confusion playing across their faces.

Somewhere below the platform, the tracks were coming to life. They creaked and groaned like an old monster roused from slumber as one by one huge bolts shot out of their fixtures and ricocheted over the heads of the onlookers, lodging into the brick wall of the station. Blue-white sparks bounced off the lines overhead and tore along the tracks, crackling and snapping. Rinoa stared at the hulk of metal as it reared over her, twisting into the sky, extending fingers of steel that embedded into the ground around her in a makeshift cage. She hunched against the concrete of the platform, terrified of her own power.

"Calm down," Squall told her as he glanced once over his shoulder. "You don't need to do anything. Let us take care of this."

Rinoa took a breath, then nodded. The uprooted tracks stopped moving, looking like an abstract art feature in the middle of the train station.

_Don't hurt anyone,_ Rinoa thought across the bond. _They don't understand. Don't give them a reason to be scared of me._

_They should be scared of us,_ Seifer thought savagely, drowning out Squall's more placid sentiments. _If they fear us, they'll think twice about coming after you. Deterrent is the best defence. _

_But_ –

The agents recovered from their initial shock of seeing the platform move, and they attacked as a unit. Rinoa realised with horror that they had guns. No, not guns – what were they? Stun guns? Regardless, Squall and Seifer wouldn't have seen guns before.

_They shoot lightning_! she yelled across the bond. _Like magic!_

Patronising? Perhaps. But it did the job. Squall and Seifer simultaneously adjusted their stances and launched forward into an attack. The nearest agent shot a bolt at Squall and he somehow turned it away with the flat of his blade; it bounced harmlessly onto the tracks. The man had time to blink in surprise before Squall was on him, spinning in a tight half circle and crunching his elbow into the man's chin. The agent spat blood and teeth, staggered backwards, and Squall used the momentum of his spin to kick him square on the chest, launching him off the platform and onto the rails below.

In that time one of the other agents had slipped past the defence and advanced on Rinoa. She stared up in fear and raised her arms to protect herself. The agent held the stun gun level with her chest, then he looked sharply to the side. There was no time for him to look shocked; Seifer hit him with the hilt of his sword and the man's nose broke with a sickening crunch. The stun gun flew out of his twitching fingers, and Seifer swept him off his feet with a low kick.

_They listened to me,_ Rinoa realised dumbly. _They're not killing anyone._

The realisation might have brought her some satisfaction if not for a flood of agents that came barging out of the station. Dozens upon dozens, and this time they carried guns. Proper guns.

_We've taken on worse_, Seifer reassured her as he flung himself among their ranks, sword held low to sever the Achilles' tendons of four unsuspecting men. They crumpled to the ground, but were quickly replaced. Rinoa soon lost him among the scrum.

Squall stayed close, his attention torn between overseeing her safety and fighting off their foe. He knocked them off their feet with chi blasts and clenched his teeth and locked his joints when hit by shocks from the stun guns. But –

But. The men with the guns weren't open firing. Which meant maybe they didn't want her dead.

On shaky feet, Rinoa stood up. Immediately all eyes were on her and Squall threw himself in front of her as three men simultaneously tried to stun her. The blasts hit Squall instead, and he finally dropped to his knees, the fabric of his robes smoking slightly. One of the men levelled a gun at his head, and in alarm Rinoa threw herself in front of Squall.

"Stop! Stop this, don't hurt them! It's me you want!"

Seifer appeared from amidst the scrabble, his face contorted into a snarl of fury. "Get back, deysi, I said not to worry –" Then he was hit from behind by a stun gun and he likewise dropped to his knees.

Rinoa yelled with fright and reached out to him, but Squall pulled her back.

"Surrender." One of the men. He cocked his gun at her. "We've orders to take all three of you into custody. Unharmed."

"Did Caraway send you?" Rinoa asked with a flash of anger.

"That's classified. Please come with us, Miss Heartilly."

Rinoa's gaze darted between the strange faces, framed by the snarl of metal she'd torn from the tracks. She could feel her power welling up inside her, racing alongside her panic to be released. Up above, clouds manifested from thin air and started to swirl around some unseen nexus. A fork of lightning speared the blue sky. The men cast nervous stares skyward, then levelled their guns at her again.

"One chance to come peacefully, then we shoot," the man warned. Rinoa noticed with a flash of dismay that the man looked frightened. Frightened of her.

_Not half as frightened as I am of myself_, she thought desolately.

She looked at her hands. Up above, the clouds continued to rotate, faster than the pace of her beating heart. What would happen? How could she control it? It was too early. She wasn't ready. She needed to be away from here, away with Squall and Seifer before they got hurt. She needed to escape. She needed to –

For a second, it felt as though her body was a vacuum. Her breath was sucked out of her lungs and into an unseen void, and her limbs and organs became incorporeal; her mind shimmered and the world slowed down. Her ears popped and her senses disappeared and then –

She blinked, and she was in a snow field in the middle of a snowstorm swathed in dark grey half-light.

Rinoa shrieked, though what about, she wasn't sure; the sudden slap of freezing wet snow against her bare arms, the dizzying disorientation, her utter confusion and tangent tang of powerful magic buzzing in her veins. In her shock, she fell to her knees and sank into three feet of snow. She came up spluttering and was tugged further down into a gulf of panic.

As suddenly as she arrived, so did her Knights. One moment she was alone, and the next they appeared beside her, only a slight shivering haze to attest to the magic use as, inexplicably, a hole in space was created and they were flung through. She felt an overwhelming rush of relief, not only that they were unharmed but that she wasn't alone in this nightmare.

"Deysi!" Squall stepped toward her, then stopped short and winced against the onslaught of the howling wind and icy sleet. He stared around with grim realisation.

"S-Squall," she whispered through numbing lips. Already she was shivering and she clung helplessly to her bare arms.

"Fucking great," Seifer yelled above the screech of the gale. "You teleported us from one death to another. Call me picky, but I think I'd rather die in combat than freeze to death in the middle of fucking nowhere!"

"Shut up," Squall said. "Don't waste your energy. We need to find shelter." He glanced at Rinoa. "Quickly."

"Why don't you teleport us to a house?" Seifer acidly proposed to Rinoa. "Or to a tropical island, while you're at it?"

Rinoa was too cold to retort, though she hoped he caught the whip crack of annoyance across the Link.

"I don't suppose you know where we are?" Squall asked her.

She shook her head.

He shrugged. "Then we'll head for the firs. At least it will be more sheltered there."

Rinoa stared at the dark smear on the horizon against the angry sky, and wondered when and if she'd ever wake up from this nightmare.


End file.
